


A New Age

by gatepromise



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 81,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatepromise/pseuds/gatepromise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur/Merlin-centric. Arthur, his manservant and all of Camelot, as seen through the long-suffering eyes of Sir Leon.   Canon era, with most of the story taking place in series 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for their patience, support and all the lovely comments. New chapter coming soon!

Duty. Loyalty. Honor. Nobility.

These were the hallmarks of a knight of Camelot. They were the tenants that Sir Leon, knight of Camelot, lived his life by.

Leon was born of noble blood, and it was therefore impressed upon him at an early age how important it was to comport himself at all times in a manner befitting his station.

Like his father before him, Leon was a squire at the age of twelve and was knighted at age sixteen. He was a serious but personable youth who earnestly met his responsibilities with a maturity of someone far beyond his years, and possessed an inherent understanding that equal parts hard work, dedication and discretion would be rewarded in King Uther’s court.

Leon served and worked closely with king’s son, Prince Arthur, although the prince was a few years younger than himself. While Leon was wise enough not to consider himself a friend of the prince—it was an unstated given that royalty could have no friends—close proximity meant that he did come to know the prince better than most. 

He knew the prince to be an unusually talented and skilled swordsman, rider and jouster who often trumped those several years older than himself. One day, Arthur would no doubt be a mighty warrior who would defend his kingdom well.

On the other hand, he also knew that the prince was spoiled and arrogant. He openly argued and defied his father the king on numerous occasions (although not nearly as frequently as the king’s ward, the Lady Morgana).

Of course, Leon always reminded himself (upon witnessing yet another row amongst the dysfunctional royal family or another example of Arthur’s supercilious behavior), that his own opinions on the matter were meaningless. He perfected the art of arranging his face into a neutral mask of non-reaction whenever the future king of Camelot behaved un-princely.

Like that day in the square, when Leon had been assigned as one of Arthur’s guards as Arthur and a group of nobleman’s sons generally showed off by bullying some hapless servant. Leon certainly didn’t approve of the behavior, but no real harm was done to the servant, after all. The prince had tremendous pressure and responsibility to live up to, and could be forgiven for blowing off steam once in awhile…

“That’s enough, my friend. You’ve had your fun.”

“My mistake. I’d never have a friend that could be such an ass.”

Leon was nearly immobilized by his shock. That gangly, big-eared peasant had NOT just addressed the prince of Camelot in that manner. Did the foolish boy have some sort of mental affliction?

In the next moment, Leon knew that that had to be it, because no person, peasant or otherwise, in possession of his full faculties, would ever have tried to throw a punch at the prince. In full view of the palace guards, yet.

Before Leon could even start forward, Arthur had the adle-brained waif restrained, his arm twisted painfully behind him. Leon’s guard partner had managed to shake himself out of his astonished stupor and lead the boy away.

By rights, any threat upon the prince was punishable by execution, but Arthur seemed more entertained than angry by the incident. He and the raucous group he’d been showing off for hooted and laughed about it all for five minutes before heading off to the tavern, Leon following bemusedly.

Leon would have forgotten the whole incident completely if it had not been repeated, with the same cast of characters, less than forty-eight hours later.

To be fair—and Leon always strived to be fair—at their first meeting, the cheeky commoner had not known whom he’d been addressing—he was new to Camelot, was some sort of acquaintance to the court physician, Gaius, or so the scuttlebutt went. But now—well, Arthur had once again instigated another exchange between them, and the low-born youth with the piercing features would not back down. And he no longer had the excuse of ignorance.

Apparently, the life Arthur lead must bore the prince greatly, because thus ensued one of the most ridiculous versions of a fight Leon had ever seen. Arthur tripped, and stumbled, and otherwise staggered about like a drunken bar fly while the other boy—Merlin, that was his name—managed to stay out of his reach for the most part. When the prince finally tired of the entertainment and put an end to the silly skirmish, he surprised Leon again by waving the guards off this Merlin fellow and telling him, in a voice equal parts puzzlement and annoyance, “There’s something about you…I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Yes, Leon reflected, as the spectators thinned and Arthur wandered off with his hangers-on once again. There was definitely something about this Merlin. He was one of those rare few who did not accept his place in the world, who caused disorder and could not curb his tongue when addressing his betters. He was a trouble-maker, that much was for certain.

Leon vowed he would keep an eye on this peculiar disruptor. Something told him that the prince, and by extension himself, would be crossing paths with him again.  
Leon wasn’t wrong.

Leon’s prowess on the practice field and in battle, as well as his ability to maintain discretion and decorum, were not unnoticed. He often served in court, reporting directly to King Uther. He, more than any other knight of his age, became trusted by both prince and king. Even Uther, infamous for his bad temper and his insular ways, (some might say paranoia), had praised him more than once for the quality and thoroughness of his work. Such recognition pleased Leon, of course, but he frequently reminded himself that it was his duty to perform his duties admirably, that was all. He was doing his job. If that happened to win him respect by royalty and peers alike, so be it. Leon understood the value of humility even at his station.

Leon knew that an enormous amount of information could be gathered simply by observing and listening. It was not as if he had no thought in his head, no perspective about what went on around him in the kingdom, after all. There were times when Uther’s tyrannical decrees sickened him, especially concerning the execution of children and women for the crime of sorcery. While he understood the reasons for the law, the enforcement of such was not the way he would have handled things. He never voiced his opinions, of course, it was not his place. The king honored him by allowing him to serve.

But there were times, such as when he was ordered to take part in these brutalizations, when the burden weighed more heavily upon him than he thought he could bear.

After one such particularly disturbing and difficult incident, Leon was granted leave to visit his aging parents. In a moment of grave weakness, he’d confided in his father, who had also served under King Uther and whom had been generally acknowledged as not being long for the world.

His father had merely looked upon silently for a long time, touched his head and called him a good son, and then said only that while King Uther may not be right, he was still the king.

And then Leon could only watch as his father joined the gods in the spirit world.

Leon was his father’s sole heir, though not the last of his line. He had a young cousin, Henrik, whom had been entrusted to his mentorship and was now a squire, soon to be knighted. He’d promised his uncle and aunt that he would look after Henrik, keep him well as best he could.

Leon always kept his promises.

Months turned into years, and with the passing of time came changes and maturity, some of them drastic.

Camelot was never a dull place. And somehow, the prince’s manservant always, without fail, seemed to somehow be involved in whatever new drama happened to be unfolding.

Frankly, Merlin drove Leon mad.

Well, that wasn’t quite fair. Leon had very little interaction with Merlin. But he saw him with Arthur, and heard him. Often.

The odd relationship Prince Arthur had with his manservant both fascinated and appalled Leon. The way that Merlin spoke to Arthur…the squabbles they were forever engaged in, like two high-strung women. The name-calling, the insults. It sometimes infuriated Leon, to be aware of how a peasant was committing treason every time he all but opened his mouth to his master and prince.

The other side of the issue was Arthur. While Merlin was crass and rude and clumsy and foolish, Arthur…Arthur’s behavior towards him was inexplicable. For one thing, he put up with it all. He even seemed to enjoy the arguments, the fact that Merlin seemed to (mistakenly) believe that he was the prince’s equal and could address him in the way he might speak to a fellow commoner. On many occasions, the arguments usually ended with Arthur yelling at Merlin and throwing something at him. Leon had no doubt that the prince’s manservant tried his patience beyond endurance.

But then…Prince Arthur always had Merlin accompany him everywhere, on hunts, patrols, training, even into battle. It certainly wasn’t for backup or an extra hand, for Merlin was useless with a sword and never swift of foot. He was notorious for tripping over himself, or talking incessantly, (mostly complaints), usually scaring off their prey or alerting their enemies to their presence. Merlin’s sheepish apologies and Arthur’s annoyed, riled reactions had come to be expected as part of every day life for Leon.

Yet, there was something different and indescribable about how Arthur sometimes looked at Merlin—usually not even at his face, but at his mouth. He would stare at Merlin with an intensity that always compelled Leon to lower his gaze or busy himself elsewhere.

Or the way that, during odd moments, such as late at night when most of their group were on watch or sleeping and there was only a dim campfire, Arthur and the curious young man in baggy clothing were often awake and talking together quietly. Leon didn’t listen, of course, he didn’t hear what they spoke of, and after all, Merlin was always prattling on about something, but—it made him wonder, sometimes. Leon even worried at times if he should intervene, and chastise Merlin, even privately, over his lack of respect. It was one thing to direct the prince’s perspective in positive ways; it was quite another to call him silly, made-up names.

But Leon couldn’t help but hear, sometimes, sudden bursts of laughter from the both of them. Merlin made Arthur laugh.

Truthfully, Arthur had changed a great deal over the course of time. He had had a reputation as a youth as being a bully and taking advantage of, if not abusing, his position as the king’s son. But age and experience and a further understanding of impending responsibility had brought some insight, it seemed, and circumstances had brought Merlin.

Merlin seemed to have a knack for calling the prince on his bad behavior and demanding that he correct it. For example-- in response to Merlin’s naggings, Arthur seemed to notice suddenly that those inhabiting the lower towns, the landowners and farmers, were people and should be treated as such.

Somehow, this thin, fey-looking peasant boy seemed to be able to influence the crown prince of Camelot when his tutors and instructors and advisers, even his own father, could not.

But there was still the problem of Merlin’s lack of manners.

To Leon’s way of thinking, Merlin needed to be schooled in how to behave appropriately as a member of the royal household. It wasn’t as if he thought he should be stifled. No, he’d grown up with the Lady Morgana’s maid’s family serving in his household, and all of them had been outspoken and forthright, with both Gwen and her mother sometimes saying things their noble employers needed to hear. And now Guinevere was the Lady Morgana’s maid, a rather shy and bumbling girl who had turned into a very beautiful young woman, earning a place in the royal household and even a position of favor in Morgana’s affections. Yet, while speaking her mind, she always managed to do so courteously, respectfully, politely. Leon approved of her ways and wished Merlin could take a page from her book.

He might as well wish for wings on pigs while he was at it, he supposed.

Leon’s assignments were now placing him closer than ever to the prince and his manservant. He was becoming more intimately aware of Arthur and Merlin’s interactions than ever before, and was ignoring (as well as he was able), a growing sense of unease about it.

It wasn’t as if he thought there was anything untoward between them, of course not. And it wasn’t as if Leon judged such things, either, even if there were…he didn’t fancy men himself, but was well aware of what went on, especially on long campaigns. Knights and soldiers had understandable needs, after all.

It was just that…there was an intimacy, between Arthur and Merlin, despite all of Merlin’s incompetence as a manservant (and he really, truly was awful at his job.) There were touches and stares and silent communications that just, somehow, despite even whatever might be said at any given moment, that seemed out of place, for a master and servant.

Leon witnessed the staid, staunch King of Camelot fall in love with a troll and divest the prince of his inheritance, his title and his birthright, and had been powerless to do anything. Rather than his fellow nobility, it had been Merlin who had seen to the prince, had helped him regain both his father and his dignity and rid the kingdom of the odoriferous creature and her nefarious intent-- and take her flea-ridden accomplice with her.

And then came the awful day when Leon and King Uther had been interrupted by a furious, silently trembling Arthur in the throne room, after Arthur had disappeared suddenly and been searched for (with Merlin, of course, always with Merlin). Leon had stood outside the heavy doors as he’d been instructed, and heard the sounds of a family and a dynasty imploding upon themselves, and been powerless to do anything. He’d been ordered not to enter by the king, dammit.

Merlin had rushed in, he’d somehow convinced Leon to disregard the orders, and he’d…he’d saved them. Leon had been a horrified witness to Arthur with a sword at his father’s throat, and Merlin alone dissuading the prince from following through with his murderous intent. And…Leon had also seen the emotional fallout to royalty and servant alike.

Leon had been shaken for days afterward. He’d thought perhaps he should say something to Merlin, thank him for his boldness, apologize for manhandling him as he had.

But he hadn’t gotten the chance. Shortly thereafter, the kingdom was struck by an illness that caused everyone to fall asleep. They were under siege by mysterious, faceless knights. The Lady Morgana had been lost. Arthur was devastated and guilt-ridden, King Uther…well, he had never been the most steady or even keeled under the best of circumstances, but now some part of him seemed to come unhinged. Merlin had again been instrumental in protecting both the king and prince, and his eyes were unaccountably haunted afterward.

After that, life in Camelot became hell. A dragon---A Dragon!—attacked and lay the kingdom to ruin. Leon lead men to their deaths in futile attempts to defend the realm. The only remaining Dragonlord known had been slain before he could help. Leon had been certain that they were all doomed. Arthur’s promise of hope still remaining were inspirational and fine, surely. Leon was the first to volunteer for the suicide mission to meet the abominable creature on open ground, in support of his king and prince. He did not expect to return, but made peace with himself in that this would be an honorable death.

They were fourteen men on this hopeless mission. He was one of twelve knights, along with Arthur and the obsequious Merlin as they made their last stand in an open field, on horseback. Such was Leon’s focus that it did not even occur to him to question once more why Merlin was accompanying them. What on earth could Merlin do, with his lack of fighting skills, his twitchy nervousness? The boy did not even have armor.

It was his last thought before he found himself waking up to dark sky and a madly giggling Prince. The scourge that had been plaguing their land was nowhere in sight. The acrid smell of burning flesh made him gag and retch, and Arthur stopped laughing and ran to him.

He’d been the only knight to survive. All of the other nobles were dead, as were the horses. Merlin somehow found a cart and helped Arthur load him into it, and he’d lost consciousness again on their triumphant trek back into the city.

Merlin was, as usual, no help at all, in telling anyone how Arthur had vanquished the fire-breathing foe. Not even Arthur, conquering hero that he was, had been able to tell him what had happened, though Leon supposed the details weren’t important. Once Leon was recovered, he could join in the efforts to find the Lady Morgana and bring her home to her distraught king.

A terrible year followed.

When he was strong enough again, Leon rejoined Arthur and numerous patrols in the search for the Lady Morgana.

King Uther was obsessed with finding her and bringing her home. It did not seem to matter that he was sending men into lands known to be hostile to anyone bearing the Pendragon crest. Uther was not a man to mourn the loss of knights and soldiers under his command. All that mattered was finding his ward and returning her to safety, all else be damned.

Leon reminded himself that it was his duty to meet his king’s wishes, not to wonder or opine over them.

The death count continued to mount while meeting the king’s wishes. Camelot’s armies were depleted. Leon was promoted to knight captain, in further reward and recognition for his trustworthiness.

Leon accompanied Prince Arthur in almost every patrol he embarked upon.

There was an edge to the usual bickering banter between Arthur and his manservant these days. Everyone was exhausted, disheartened and on-edge, and Arthur didn’t seem to find Merlin quite so amusing. Heavy objects were flying in Merlin’s direction more and more frequently.

Merlin himself was a mystery too. There had been a time or two in the past year when Leon had come upon Merlin in the castle halls, and the boy had looked wrecked, as if he’d been weeping. At least, that was how it had seemed to Leon, though any inquiry to the servant’s well-being was always met with a cheeky grin and some excuse. Leon didn’t really believe Merlin half the time, but hadn’t given it all much thought. Probably just some row with Arthur, then. Arthur himself was fond of calling Merlin overly sensitive, a maiden in need of gentle treatment, a pansy.

In fairness, though, Leon had to admit that despite Merlin’s shortcomings as a manservant, he did look after the prince well. Leon couldn’t doubt his loyalty even if he was sure of his incompetence.

Like today. Another endless patrol, and Merlin whinging about his backside hurting, and actually telling Arthur his own arse was fat. Leon also had to admit that despite the inappropriateness, Merlin was often quite clever and witty. He just—well, he shouldn’t talk to the prince that way, that was all. “Dollop-head”? Honestly. “Idiomatic”? How was a peasant boy with no education coming up with this?

And then they were in crisis again, and people were dying, and Leon lost track of everything but fighting and staying alive.

Morgana. They’d found Morgana. She was alive, and they’d bring her home to the waiting king. Leon felt that the year’s fortunes were about to take a turn for the better.

He’d expected Merlin to prattle on incessantly on the ride back, but Merlin had been still and pale, even when the prince had tried to provoke him into several arguments with him.

There had actually been a time when Leon had considered courting the Lady Morgana.

She was, after all, the daughter of a duke and a knight, one who had served Uther and Camelot well before falling in battle. Her beauty was undeniably unsurpassed in Camelot and all the five kingdoms. She was not vapid or insipid like a typical lady of court, but possessed of a keen mind and strong spirit. She was also known for her kindness towards the subjects of Camelot, which Leon thought admirable. He knew that Morgana’s maid Guinevere was very fond of her mistress, too. In his youth, Leon had imagined that the king’s ward would be a fine match for him, worthy of his lineage and he of hers. He in turn would, of course, honor her and treat her well. He had even made preparations to ask the king’s permission in beginning courting.

There had been many reasons for his hesitation. Courting the ward of a king was a serious undertaking, and for a time he had believed Morgana was meant to be Arthur’s consort. By the time he’d been disavowed of that notion, he’d begun to truly observe the striking young woman. Leon wasn’t the only one to notice her dazzling appearance, after all; suitors came from far and wide. But Uther was very unusual in that he gave his ward veto power over whom would attend her, and she inexplicably turned them all away. Many of the hopefuls had been influential men, titled nobility, princes and even a king, far more coveted and appealing than a young knight might appear.

Leon was also often present during what would otherwise be considered private moments of the royal family, and observed them all as they and himself pretended to be invisible. Morgana was an intelligent and passionate woman, it was true—but she was also unequivocally rude, manipulative, and disrespectful to her king. He had thought at first that it was a stage, a passing phase that she would eventually outgrow. After all, being high-strung, overly-emotional and spoiled was pretty well expected for a lady in her position. But her deplorable behavior only seemed to worsen as she grew older.

Leon spent a good deal of time among rowdy, raucous men, and yet Morgana still managed to shock him frequently with what came out of her mouth—she was sarcastic, shrill, petulant, demanding. The king allowed her to be present during court at her whim, even going so far as allowing her to voice opinions and recommendations. Rather than demonstrating gratitude and humility for such a favor, she picked fights with the king over issues of state that did not concern her and which no woman could possibly understand. She poked and prodded and sparred endlessly, seeming to enjoy the king’s loss of patience and temper. And yet the king adored her, doted on her, tolerated and indulged her childish defiance with very few exceptions, far beyond anything Uther would put up with from his own son and heir. Their dynamic was bewildering, but it didn’t take long before Leon had become disinclined from his earlier aspirations for her hand.

The final straw was witnessing Morgana one morning as Arthur, Merlin and a regiment prepared for a quest to rid the kingdom of its latest magical scourge. Morgana, barefoot, wild-eyed and outfitted in only her nightly attire—and here Leon had averted his eyes out of respect for her modesty—had run down the castle steps, hysterical and shrieking to Arthur that he must not go, weeping about how she knew he would not survive…

It was chaotic and embarrassing and truly disturbing, because he knew the prince was fond of his foster-sister and no one wanted to see such a disturbing display in public. Nobility were not supposed to make scenes, no matter what their distress. Merlin and the guards had helped lead her away to Gaius, muttering about her being unwell and suffering from nightmares and it wasn’t her fault, but—

Leon had come to the conclusion then: Morgana was not a suitable marital match for him, even if she had deigned to consider him. She was unstable, indecorous and off-putting.  
~~~~  
Leon honestly felt guilty and ashamed now for the uncharitable thoughts he’d had those several years ago regarding Morgana. And he was grateful to whatever gods had allowed him to be a part of her rescue and return to her home and guardian. She had to have gone through a harrowing ordeal. Leon refused to allow himself to dwell on how horrid it might have been. It was over now, and Arthur had confided that she was unharmed physically and reunited with the king. Leon didn’t have to be a genius to also see how relieved Arthur was that his surrogate sister was back where she belonged. Not to mention the fact that the dangerous and deadly patrols could now cease, and life in Camelot could return to what passed for normal here.

It was interludes like this that always had Leon observing Arthur and his manservant, despite his mind’s assertion that whatever relationship they might have was none of his business. They didn’t even necessarily have any relationship, after all, other than master and servant.

Except that Leon knew that was untrue.

Merlin was still sulking, for whatever reason. That in itself wasn’t unusual, for he seemed unusually moody these days, perhaps even a bit under the weather. What did pique Leon’s curiosity, though, was Arthur’s reactions to Merlin’s strop.  
Arthur played to Merlin, deliberately teased and taunted him in efforts to make him laugh or just exasperate the other man. He’d effect a high-pitched, feminine voice while imitating Merlin’s lack of fighting skills, “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me”, eliciting laughter from the knights and checking to see his servant’s reaction. He’d been distracted enough that one of the knights he’d been training with, one far below Arthur’s own abilities, had managed to score a hit. That hardly ever happened, wouldn’t have happened if not for Arthur being so concerned over his servant.

A servant. A peasant. Arthur was being silly in front of the men he commanded for his servant.

Had it been anyone else pouting like this, Arthur would have dismissed him impatiently or ignored him completely.

Perhaps Merlin really was the girl Arthur kept insisting he behaved like.

All right, no he wasn’t. Leon had spent enough time near Merlin while camping out, bathing in streams and rivers, relieving himself as needed, as men did. Leon was well aware that Merlin’s anatomy was most definitely male even if his overly-sensitive nature wasn’t.

Before Leon could spend any more time on this ridiculous mental puzzle, the feeling he’d had that Camelot’s fortunes were about to improve were obliterated.

The king became unwell, not just any ordinary illness that could be treated with bedrest and tinctures from Gaius. Oh no. The king was seeing things, wailing and screaming in the public square and the throne room. Visions of sorcerers he’d apparently had put to death, and, rumor had it, his own dead wife.

It frightened Leon more than any threat to his own life ever had.

And Leon was seeing some things himself, although these he knew to be real. He saw the newly-returned Lady Morgana skulking about in corridors and riding away in the night, and he could not even begin to formulate a reason why that might be.  
He also saw Arthur struggling between what he knew had to be done, and his loyalty to his father.

(Leon also happened to notice that during the time that Arthur needed him most, Arthur’s silly servant disappeared, was nowhere to be found. For two days. And then showed up with his usual stupid, gormless expression firmly in place and nary an explanation. This was the servant that Arthur seemed to care about so much…)

For the first time in his adult life, Leon went against everything he’d ever been taught, and spoke out against the realm he served. He asked Gaius to intervene on behalf of Camelot, to speak to Arthur about the necessity of becoming regent while his father was incapacitated.

It seemed that Arthur truly had gained maturity and insight when Leon overhead a quick exchange between him and Merlin. “What are you going to do? God help me…”

They were under siege again—it was always something—with Cendred’s armies approaching quickly, when Arthur pulled Leon aside and spoke to him quickly.

“You have my trust. I am going to depend upon you to help me lead and to advise me. I expect honesty and directness from you, not what you think I wish to hear.”

Leon would have liked the time to enjoy the swell of pride and responsibility those words gave him. He could embrace it later; now there were weapons to sharpen and distribute, men to organize, a hospital to set up, civilians to direct to safe areas, a hundred details to attend to with the prince. And through it all, Merlin trailed in their wake. Just what purpose he was serving, Leon did not know.

But then they were in battle, and by the gods’ teeth, there were walking skeletons with swords. Just how were they supposed to defend themselves against an army already dead?

Predictably, Merlin was not seen, was not at his master’s back as he should have been. (Although, really, what could he have done, but die with Arthur too?)

Except Arthur didn’t die. Leon didn’t die. Even Merlin didn’t. Somehow, the Lady Morgana had managed to dispel the enchantment of the skeletal soldiers. She’d saved them all (although Arthur and Camelot’s armies had certainly helped.)

Leon didn’t understand it, and as usual, details were not forthcoming. And the king, as it turned out, was not insane but had been under an enchantment. He was well and strong again, had been well enough to don armor and try to help defend his kingdom during the worst of the fighting.

A mighty feast was held in celebration of another victory for Camelot.

His faith restored, Leon resolved to stop questioning things that need not be questioned. Even when he’d happened to glance up at the front table where the royal family dined, and caught sight of something he told himself later he had not actually seen.

While pouring more wine for Arthur, Merlin had looked over at Morgana, and she’d stared back at him. Her look had been one of pure threat and malice, her face like ice.

No one else saw it, and in the next moment, Morgana was fawning over Uther again, brilliant smile back in place.

He’d believed that the serving boy and the Lady had had some sort of fond friendship, but…not anymore.  
~~~~~  
Another tumultuous, turbulent year passed in Camelot.

Leon’s cousin Henrik, now eighteen and a knight for two full years, was sent with his regiment to the Nemeth outpost as part of Uther’s conviction to protect the ancestral lands at Gedref. The youth was tall and lanky, with bright red hair Leon still had hope would calm down like his own strawberry blond hue, later in life.

Henrik was also earnest and brave, eager to prove himself as they all were at that age. His fighting skills were only average, and his body core had not quite filled out yet, but-- the assignment was an important and honorable one. There were occasional outbreaks and skirmishes there, enough so that Henrik could hone his skills while not being quite in the thick of things. Leon felt both familial pride and concern for him as he saw him off.

Merlin was arrested for sorcery (again) and quickly exonerated. Arthur had had to order the arrest, and had looked so stricken that Leon had believed he was about to vomit. For some reason during that same week, everyone around them suffered from flatulence, all except for Merlin. And Arthur seemed to develop some sort of whooping, croup- like catch in his throat that made him laugh like…well, a bray that resembled a donkey’s.

Just another week in Camelot.

The melee competition always brought some of the finest nobility in all the land to Camelot, and some of the worst.

The long-haired, wandering stranger, Gwaine—oh, of course he turned out to be a friend of Merlin’s. Leon no longer had it in him to be surprised by these things any more.

What continued to surprise Leon was the level of influence Merlin seemed to have in asking boons of the prince, and being granted them.

This Gwaine was a typical vagabond low-life commoner, disrespectful and insolent and possessing an awful temper. He’d attacked two knights, apparently for no reason. Leon arrested him himself. Some people just loved to cause trouble and couldn’t fathom proper behavior to their betters to save their life.

And Arthur had defended him, in open court. Gwaine had helped out in a barroom brawl Arthur and Merlin had become involved with—no doubt one this Gwaine had started—and so he’d asked his father to show mercy. Arthur literally had saved the man from execution. (Leon had also noticed that Arthur had the same talent for eloquent public speaking as his father.)

Gwaine showed his appreciation for this favor by spouting on about how nobility was demonstrated by one’s actions rather than by birth.

Leon bit the inside of his own cheek until he tasted blood. He usually advocated for mercy in these things, but he would not have protested never seeing this unpleasant peasant again. Gwaine was the ultimate epitome of poor breeding.

Gwaine was thankfully banished and the melee commenced without further incident.

Except for when the same two visiting knights who had accused the rakish stranger turned out not to be knights at all, but murderers intent on taking the prince’s life.

Leon had only been able to watch as a helmeted man had helped to save Arthur. The unknown knight was so obviously well-trained and skilled---what house might he be from? He didn’t recognize some of his fighting moves.

It turned out that nothing on that day was as it seemed.

The “savior-knight” turned out to be Gwaine, returned to Camelot despite the threat of execution. Leon had once again overheard Merlin’s pleading with Arthur to have the ban lifted. Arthur had only managed to allow the other man to leave by nightfall with his head still attached, never to return again.

Leon was on the practice field and witnessed Arthur and Merlin see him off, and then chase each other like children afterward.

Leon decided that it was best to simply not think of the Gwaine- incident any further.  
~~~  
The warning bell sounded.The Lady Morgana was again the subject of great worry and distress when she suffered a serious fall down a staircase. As always, Merlin was right in the center of the crisis, the first to find her and alert Arthur. Leon watched Merlin that week, saw him flitting about impotently, trying to comfort Arthur and Guinevere. Morgana was not expected to live, and those who loved her had already begun mourning.

Merlin’s reactions were again something of interest to Leon. He had promised himself he would no longer waste his energies in matters that did not concern him. And yet, he could not help but notice that the formerly curiously close relationship between prince and servant had cooled somewhat in recent months. The reasons for that were probably no more complex than the servant himself—no doubt Arthur was merely coming more into maturity and realizing how inappropriate such a connection could be seen as.

Leon had watched from his chambers’ window: There was Arthur in the pouring rain, slashing and beating a practice dummy to smithereens in a frenzy of uncontrolled rage and grief. Arthur finally fell to his knees, making a sound that Leon thought could have been sobbing. He hesitated a moment—should he impose on such a vulnerable moment for his prince? But then he saw a previously undetected figure detach himself from where he’d been standing, silently watching, soaked to the skin himself. He had thought the prince was alone with his distress, but--- it was Merlin, helping Arthur to his feet and guiding him into the palace via the servant’s entrance so that he would not be seen.

And Arthur allowed it, without protest.

Leon concluded that it was quite possible he still didn’t have any idea what went on between Arthur and Merlin.  
~~~~~  
Guinevere.

Leon had always been fond of Gwen, had known her since he was a child. He thought her a good, loyal, kind-hearted woman possessed of many fine qualities.

But Arthur was a prince, and she was the daughter of blacksmith. (And yes, reminding himself of that, and how and why Thomas had died, did make things a bit easier and clearer for Leon.)

Arthur had been caught by Uther with Guinevere, alone and unchaperoned, and now…now Uther believed her to be a sorceress who had enchanted the prince. She was sentenced to be executed.

Leon’s heart felt as if it would pound out of his chest.

And Arthur—Arthur made a scene. He shouted protest, swore he would give up his title and his kingdom for her because he loved her. He loved a peasant woman, a maidservant.

Uther became father and king, gently touched Arthur’s face, told him his son would never say such a thing. And then he’d ordered Gwen removed while Arthur fought and howled and the two tried to cling to each other. And of course, Merlin looked about to burst into tears.

It was horrible.

For the first time in a very long time, Leon was reminded how very young the prince of Camelot was.

Leon’s heart ached over the entire situation. He did not want to see his childhood acquaintance put to death, that was for certain, but if she was enchanted or had enchanted Arthur…well, who knew how she might have been influenced by her father’s use of magic? One could never tell about about these things. Magic corrupted even good people, everyone knew that.

Arthur was heartsick of course. Leon had long been aware of attraction between the prince and the maidservant, and somehow suspected that Merlin had a hand in it all too. Didn’t he always? Gwen was Merlin’s fellow servant, his friend. He remembered Gwen fighting tears during the almost-wedding between Arthur and Princess Elena, and had known they weren’t tears of joy, at least not until Arthur had called off the wedding. (And Leon just knew, he knew, Merlin had somehow orchestrated that too.)

Was the crown prince really this malleable?

Peasants and nobility did not marry, and royalty certainly didn’t marry servants! “Love” just didn’t enter into it. If he had thought himself falling for her, he should have reminded himself very early on not to become involved, to have her removed so that he would not be influenced by his emotions. That was what his parents had taught Leon, and he knew it to be good advice. How could Arthur even be considering a relationship with Gwen, even as appealing as she may be? Nothing could come of it. He had a kingdom to think of, a royal lineage to continue.

He himself had observed Gwen and Arthur together on more than one occasion, sometimes when they were unaware they were being watched. She was usually scolding him about something, or reminding him that she expected him to be a good king one day, though much more politely and acceptably than Merlin did.

Honestly? He hadn’t witness any sort of passionate love of the type someone should throw away a crown and title over. He’d seen more passion between Merlin and Arthur, the way their gazes lingered and seemed too long at times, and…

Ohhh. Leon was simply not going there.

No, this thing with Arthur and Gwen was either a magical enchantment, or else some sort of infatuation, or perhaps the only rebellion Arthur could manage against his father’s tight leash on him. Leon was unwavering in his conviction of that.

Arthur would come around. But in the meantime, Leon almost went weak with relief when the actual magic user was discovered and Gwen was released from prison.

The sorcerer was a creepy, ancient thing who babbled nonsense and called the king “stupid” and seemed to have some sympathy for servants.

Come to think of it, where was Merlin? He’d never seen anyone more talented for slipping away during times of crisis. He knew Merlin had been terribly upset by Gwen’s arrest and sentence, and had tried to comfort the prince. Leon had even allowed Merlin in to see her, though that was strictly against policy for the condemned. Leon also had an inkling that Merlin had been trying to find ways to prove her innocence or else help her escape.

But now that she was released, where was he? It was most puzzling.

Somehow, the off-putting old magician had escaped the pyre and Arthur had declared himself “cured” of the enchantment—he no longer declared his love for Gwen. She was able to return to her duties as Morgana’s maidservant.

Merlin showed up just in time to grin a lot. He’d been at the tavern, he told Arthur. Arthur threatened to have him sent to the stocks for a week, had settled instead on a lot of yelling and having him muck out the stables.

And Leon once again was reminded of the value of simply watching and listening.  
He’d overheard Arthur and Gwen in a deserted corridor a few days later.

Arthur had lied.  
~~~~~  
Leon died. He was dead…and then he wasn’t.

At least that was how it seemed. He’d fallen in battle, and believed himself mortally wounded. He’d drifted for awhile, unable to move or speak, but hearing the sounds of the dying around him. And then for a time, all was quiet. Things became dark, though he believed his eyes were open and it was still mid-day. He no longer felt pain.

It was alright. He would die for the love of Camelot.

Just when he was marveling at how calm he was about it all, something very odd happened. He felt as though he’d slammed back into his own body, and there were…Druids around him. Druids! They were speaking to him softly in words in he didn’t understand, cradling his aching head, and encouraging him to drink from a cup.

Time passed.

Groggily, he was aware of them helping him onto a horse, guiding him to the edge of Camelot’s border before disappearing. He’d somehow found his way back, feeling his strength returning all the while.

He hadn’t even had the opportunity to thank them for their help.

He was welcomed warmly, but he did not know how to report what had transpired. Uther became very intense, and Leon had felt threatened enough to hedge his report, to say only that he’d drank from some kind of cup and sensed his life restored.

It wasn’t until Gaius had examined him, declared him fit but dehydrated, and everyone had finally left him alone to rest that Leon felt himself begin to tremble violently. He had to fight against tears that threatened to escape.

What the hell had just happened to him?

By all the gods, his life was so strange.


	2. Chapter 2

How had he ever possibly imagined Morgana to be beautiful, or good-hearted, or desirable?

He stared at her now, her and her smug bitch of a half-sister, and all he could see was her glittering eyes, mad with lust for power and pleasure at the violence and destruction she had wrought. Her mouth was over-stained with dark red, like one of those magical blood-sucking creatures Leon had heard tales of. She was enjoying this immensely.

Leon could only see overwhelming ugliness.

She was a traitor. An evil, despicable, deceitful, lying traitor and he hated her—and Leon did not often hate anyone.

Camelot was taken, and Leon had been captured—not gently, either--in trying to defend it against men who would not fall, could not be killed.

Given his recent near-dying, he had a horrible feeling about this.

That horror escalated when he had learned who had been behind the coup: Morgana, the king’s ward, who, it turned out, wasn’t his ward at all but illegitimate daughter.

Whatever. King Uther was certainly not the first king to have illegitimate offspring. He was still the rightful king of Camelot, not this gloating madwoman.

He’d been tossed into a cell, alone, for several days without food and water before being dragged to the throne room, in chains, and thrown to his knees before her.

He was weak from lack of nourishment, it was true. He just hoped his contempt for her showed on his face, for all to see.

He glanced briefly at Guinevere, scared and tense and small beside the throne, no doubt also a prisoner.

“Tell me, Sir Leon. How have you enjoyed the first week of my reign?”

Pasty-faced, laughing whore…

“Speak up! Are you and your fellow knights ready to honor and serve me?”

She had to be joking.

“I would rather die.” He would, too. It would be worth it to see her face twist in displeasure like that again.

Her cow of a littermate smirked, “That can be arranged.”

He couldn’t help but smirk a little, himself. Death held no fear for him, and he knew what he was about to say would enrage them both.

“My loyalty is to the King and Prince Arthur.” He said the words with pride, enjoying the looks on his captors’ revolting faces. “There is nothing you can do that will change that.”

“We shall see.”

And see he did.

He was a knight of Camelot. The peasants and subjects of the kingdom paid taxes and were loyal to the crown. In return, they earned the right to live and work and raise their families, unmolested. It was Leon’s duty as a knight to ensure their protection.

He’d failed miserably. The cries of the innocent peasants she’d had shot with arrows would stay with him for the rest of his life, however short it was likely to be. 

He hadn’t expected that, not at all, but then, he’d been a fool to expect honor from someone who’d just betrayed them all.  
~~~~~  
He’d given up on counting the cracks of the dungeon walls and ceiling, and was no longer even hearing his belly rumbling in hunger.

He’d tried to doze, but his anxiety level was too high. Best to try to stay alert, anyway.

He thought of how his mother might be faring, if she was still alive, wondered if Henrik’s outpost had been taken.

The door rattled and squeaked, swung open.

It was Gwen.  
~~~~~  
Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He’d made her swear, on her own life and anyone she held dear, that she would never, ever tell anyone about this.

She’d laughed and told him the color of the frock—some wretched purplish thing—was “well suited for his coloring”.

Ohhhhh….

It was mortifying, but it worked. Leon and Gwen managed to escape the town undetected, him nearly tripping over the hem of his dress with his every step. Just how did women move, work, ride, live in these things? They were incredibly impractical garments.

He felt more empowered when they were finally able to stop and he could take off the humiliating disguise. He would have liked to burn it, but the fire may be seen.

They kept running, for Arthur and Uther and for Camelot.  
~~~~~  
“Here. Come and join me.”

All of them, Leon and the four common-born defenders that formed their fugitive “army”, joined Arthur and Gaius at the circular table Arthur had uncovered. Gwen sat beside him, the two of them no longer even trying to conceal their romance. What would be the point?

Arthur called Merlin to sit at his right hand.

Arthur spoke of the significance of the shape, how it afforded no one man more importance than any other.

But it had been Merlin he’d called to his right hand.

Arthur spoke of his appreciation for the help of each of them, told them of his intent to free his father from Camelot’s prison. A suicide mission, they all knew.

“Are there any around this table who would join me?”

One by one, they made their pledges. Not the beautiful, ancient words of the knight’s vow, but simple and heartfelt and sincere nonetheless.

Before Leon could speak, Lancelot had risen first.

“…to fight with honor for justice and freedom and all that’s good…”  
Elyan was next, telling Arthur he would repay Arthur’s willingness to lay down his life for him, a commoner, by laying down his own.

Leon had to speak then. He did not expect any of them to survive the morrow, but reminded Arthur, “I have fought alongside you many times. There is no one I would rather die for.”

Arthur had acknowledged their trust and long history by holding his gaze and nodding, and that was enough.

Gwaine, of course, could not help but be flippant even at the most somber and significant of times (or perhaps then, most of all):

“I think we’ve no chance, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Arthur’s mouth quirked. Merlin beamed at his wayward friend.

Massive, strong Percival, whom they’d all just met—Lancelot’s friend—seemed not inclined towards words, but his “Your enemies are my enemies” was eloquent enough, as was his full, open smile.

Gaius offered his support too, and Gwen’s soft, sweet “You know the answer” was next.

There was silence for a moment while everyone waited.

Leave it to Merlin to not quite keep up.

“Merlin”, Arthur prompted.

“No, I don’t really fancy it.”

Oh for heaven’s sake.

And of course, Arthur had been exasperated and amused, and Merlin had stood, and looked at him, nodded, and smiled his maniacal smile, and they’d held a silent conversation between them, right there in front of everyone.

“I want to thank you all for staying loyal to me in Camelot’s hour of need. I’ll do something that my father would not approve of.”

And then Arthur had broken centuries of tradition and knighted every one of these low-born followers.

Leon would not have been surprised if he’d knighted Merlin too, but somehow a shred of common sense managed to prevail in Arthur’s head.

It was all almost too much to comprehend. The common born did not become knights! Being a knight was not just about being able to fight. It came from within, from the heart and the blood. Surely Arthur must understand that.

But then Leon took a deep breath, and reminded himself of how unlikely they were, any of them, to survive tomorrow. Arthur was merely rewarding them for loyalty and sacrifice, a symbolic gesture.

Leon understood.

After the ceremony, Arthur spoke quietly to Leon apart from the others, asked him how he felt about it.

Leon managed to refrain from reminding him that it was a little late to ask now. It wasn’t the time for such sarcasm. Instead he said only, dutifully, “I am loyal to you, my prince.”

He had thought that an appropriate thing to say, but Arthur appeared disappointed, somehow. Leon hadn't managed to arrange his face into the expected expression. He was exhausted, and taxed, and probably spending his last day on earth now.

Arthur whispered, “I have told you before that I value your honesty and your openness. I will be dependent upon you even further in the coming days.”

Arthur really expected to survive this, then?

Leon just nodded. Arthur continued, “When this is over, I am going to need you to help me train these new knights in the ways of being knights. Our army is once again depleted; there may be more not of noble blood bearing the Pendragon crest. Will you stand by me?”

“Always, my lord. I will do my best.” And Leon realized that he meant it, now and in this place. And that was all that mattered.

Arthur realized it too for he smiled and then called everyone not on watch to start bedding down as best they could. They all had a very full day tomorrow.  
~~~~~  
Leon took first watch, knowing how unlikely it was that he would sleep at all on this night. Outside, it was moonless, clear and silent. From his position near the opening of their keep, he could occasionally catch fragments of whispering, most likely from Merlin and Lancelot, until they too fell quiet. Leon stayed alert, scanning the tree line and listening intently for anything that sounded out of place.

The very forest seemed to be holding its breath.

Percival eventually came out to take his turn at watch, and Leon returned inside and lay beside Gaius on the stone floor. No, sleep would most definitely not be his friend this evening, but that was fine. He often felt this way before engagements, a slightly bitter taste on the back of his tongue, his senses too sharp and focused to truly relax. He dozed in what he privately called his “soldier’s state”, not truly unconscious at any given time, but resting, storing his energy.

First light dawned bright and brisk. Leon’s first thought, after stumbling outside to relieve himself, was that it would be a very good day to die. He’d always been a confirmed pragmatist.

When he hurried back into the castle, Merlin and Guinevere were handing out the meager remains of their rations: hard, stale bread and a handful of berries they’d managed to forage from somewhere, for each of them. Of course, it was in no way nearly enough to even take the edge off the bite of hunger that had taken up residence in his belly since this had all begun, but it was all they had. At least there was plenty of water for all. Leon gulped huge mouthfuls. It helped him to swallow the tasteless bread. His nerves were strung too tightly to have much of an appetite anyway, even if a breakfast feast had been available.

He supposed he could eat and sleep all he wanted when he was dead.

Leon looked around. Everyone seemed to have paired off to consume their food. Arthur had slept in his armor, but Merlin was fussing over him anyway, adjusting buckles and straps. When Arthur was satisfied with the fit, he patted Merlin’s hand and mouthed “thanks” to him. They exchanged another of those unfathomable looks that made Leon always feel as though he was intruding by observing.

Percival and Lancelot were speaking in low murmurs, although apparently not about anything too dire; Leon saw the big man smile his full-on, brilliant smile in response to something Lancelot had said and Lancelot smiled back. 

Gwen and Gaius sat together, exchanging a word here and there but for the most part concentrating on sipping and swallowing.

Elyan and Gwaine were sitting together too, not speaking, but amicable enough. Leon didn’t think the two men had known each other before this siege had begun. Leon knew Gwen’s brother to be somewhat reserved and reticent by nature, but being quiet for more than a few moments certainly wasn’t Gwaine’s natural state.

Leon had never seen anyone eat the way Gwaine did, as if the food was always his last meal and he’d better hurry, or it might be taken from him. As Leon watched, Gwaine tipped the last of his berries into his mouth, and then happened to glance up and notice that he was being watched. Gwaine raised one eyebrow at Leon and dipped his head slightly, not a mocking gesture, for once. It was an acknowledgement. They were all in this together, after all. Leon nodded back to him, and then had to stifle a chuckle when he saw Gwaine absently reach for more berries and realize there were no more. Gwaine’s bottom lip jutted out in disappointment.

Arthur called them all back to the round table and discussed plans and strategy. Arthur knew every corridor, every tunnel, every nook and cranny of the castle like the back of his hand, after all; even better, they all hoped, than Morgana.

It was a short meeting; apparently Arthur had worked things out himself during the night and needed only to convey their orders. Merlin was probably the best person for the task he volunteered for, as Lancelot’s guide in the palace. Merlin did have a sword, Leon knew, though heaven knew how he had come by it. Leon thought he’d probably wind up slicing himself with it. Best have Lancelot looking after him, whose sword skills Leon respected. 

Leon saw Gaius glowering at Merlin for volunteering. It was probably the least dangerous assignment of all, but--. The old man saw Merlin as a treasured and cherished surrogate son. He was probably thinking what they all were, that this was goodbye.

They were six men and a servant, half-starved and mostly untrained, with a rag-tag collection of scavenged bandit’s weapons. Against traitors with magic and an immortal army.

Well, Leon supposed the situation did hold a certain grim humor.  
~~~~~  
Arthur thanked them all once again and said that if any among them wished to back out and take their chances in the woods, now would be the time, and that he could not condemn them if they wished to do so.

The invitation was met with silence. And then Leon said only, “Sire. We should not waste any more time.”

Arthur nodded gratefully and announced they would leave in five minutes, and that everyone was to “prepare themselves.”

With Merlin “busy” biting his nails by the hearth, Leon spoke quietly to the other four men, reminding them once more that the entrances would be heavily guarded and to hold their nerve. “Have each others’ backs”, he added.

Leon saw Gwen and Arthur in front of the window, where sunlight was now streaming in, casting them in a stark halo-like effect. It was rather surreal. She was whispering platitudes to him, weeping and stroking his face.

And then they were…kissing. Openly and in public. In front of Gwen’s brother, even.

Lancelot quietly left the room. Bloody hell…

Drama was NOT what they needed right now. Leon glanced at Elyan, hoping he wouldn’t make a scene over the scandal being played out before them.

Elyan didn’t even appear to notice.

It was improper and dishonorable, what they were doing—a peasant and a prince, unmarried, kissing for all to see, after the king had forbade Arthur to see that same peasant woman. And it was all just before they embarked on a mission to save that same king.

Leon sighed. None of his business, he reminded himself. They were saying goodbye. It didn’t matter—it was unlikely they’d see each other again in this world.  
~~~  
It was time.

But first, they had to pause just outside Camelot so that Arthur could reassure the damsel that was Merlin.

“I’m trembling”, Merlin muttered. Oh, of course he was.

Anyone else, anyone at all, and Arthur would have ignored him…Leon just hoped fervently that Merlin wasn’t about to throw up or cry or some such. They didn’t have time to baby-sit.

“So am I”, Arthur said.

Not a good sign.

“Not out of fear”, Merlin said, no doubt trying to save face.

Leon was just glad Arthur’s back was turned, and he couldn’t see Leon rolling his eyes. He wondered if the others were reacting the same.

“I don’t feel scared. I feel…that this day was foretold.”

So now Merlin was a fortune teller. Lovely. Just delightful. Leon resisted the urge to give Merlin a shove, get him moving and quiet, stop him from distracting the prince and all of them with his usual senseless babble.

“Arthur, this is the beginning of a new Camelot and you’re leading us to it.”

What?

Arthur turned to look at Merlin. “You’re almost like a friend, Merlin”, Arthur said.

“Almost”. 

Oh, for—

They were bantering, that’s what they were doing, like they always did. As if this last stand was just another hunting trip or patrol.

But then Leon actually saw the tight lines of Arthur’s back relax just a bit.

He’d thought Merlin was seeking reassurance from Arthur, and instead Merlin had imparted confidence to the prince. Just what was Merlin to Arthur, anyway?

Then Arthur saw the guards on the battlements turn away, and they had the moment they needed. They were moving forward quickly, in single file.

Gwaine shot Leon a disapproving, annoyed look as he passed by.  
~~~~~  
Try as he might, Leon could not get the door open. This tunnel corridor was the fastest to the dungeons, and they needed to move quickly. He’d already given it five or six sharp kicks, without much effect. Frustrated, he moved back. Perhaps if he was able to put his full weight behind it…

Percival gave the door one kick and it all but crumpled. He moved ahead of Leon without looking back.

Stunned, Leon followed, but not before hearing Merlin’s chortling just behind him.  
~~~~~

 

Why wasn’t he surprised? Why had Arthur entrusted something so important to a servant? Especially a clumsy, prattling, big-eared, sensitive, useless-in-combat, girly-man servant?

Leon heard Arthur’s wild, frustrated “What the hell are those two doing?!” and then nothing but the roaring of his own blood in his ears.

Blood soldiers were streaming towards them from every side. The few knights they’d managed to free from the dungeons joined them, but they truly were weak and starved, unable to do much more than provide human shields for their prince. Leon saw most of them fall without much of a fight. Camelot was horrendously outnumbered.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t known beforehand.

Leon vowed to himself that every one of them would be honored for their valor, even if he had to do it from the spirit world.

The king-- filthy, trembling, old-looking—and how had he aged so much in less than a fortnight?—cowered in a corner.

Leon tried to channel every ounce of his rage and frustration and disappointment over recent developments in his thrusts and parries. That hit held his contempt for cruel, hateful, gleeful Morgana and her betrayal behind it. This kick was for his helplessness at being ordered to slay women and children for sorcery. He parried another blade aimed at his head, and thought of the loss of his father and the worry he held for his mother during these attacks. That slice was for all the irritations Merlin caused him, and Gwen having him wear a dress and then laughing at him, and all the inappropriate things servants and commoners were granted by the prince, and all the disappointments and embarrassments that caused.

He’d probably never fought so fiercely, so desperately, but it didn’t matter. Soon they were all backed against the wall. Elyan was injured, bleeding profusely from a cut on his arm. Percival had been hit too.

None of them had wavered. None of them had tried to run. Leon had seen noblemen in lesser peril drop their swords and cry for their mummies, but every one of these low-borns stood true and steadfast behind the prince.

It didn’t really matter, though. It was hopeless, just as Leon had known it would be.

“If we’re going to go down, we’ll go down fighting! FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!”

He heard Arthur’s final battle cry, heard Percival bellow and throw himself into the fray once more, saw Elyan stagger to his feet to do what he could, saw a quick glimpse of Gwaine’s long hair flying and the flash of his blade. Somehow, Leon felt a final surge of energy course through him.

They’d go down, but they’d fight to the last. An honorable death.

Their enemies suddenly exploded before them. Disintegrated. All of them.

It was over.

How could it be over?

What the hell had just happened?

Almost paralyzed with shock and awe, Leon stared. He really wouldn’t have been all that surprised if they just reappeared in a moment. Stranger things had happened.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

Cautiously, he lowered his sword. He could hear the men around him, Camelot’s knights and soldiers, beginning to stir and groan. There were shuffling sounds, the jingle of chainmail, as they began to sort themselves out.

Leon chuckled a bit. He felt his muscles start to tremble, as the energy that had hit seemed to drain from him.

“Gwaine? Are you alive?” Elyan’s oddly-high pitched voice called for the comrade not standing with them.

“What do you think?” Gwaine’s smart-arsed retort echoed back to them, and they all started to chuckle.

Gwaine appeared. “And that’s Sir Gwaine to you.”

Oh, he was hilarious, this one was.  
~~~~~  
There was nothing about this that made sense. And that wasn’t even counting that all their enemies had apparently blown up at the same time.

They’d heard the she-witch screeching like a banshee all over the castle, along with the crumbling of stone and the shattering of glass. Leon and some of the others had rushed to find a very pained looking Merlin trying to help a pale and bleeding Lancelot from the area, with Gaius trailing in their wake. There was no sign of Morgana or Morgause.

How had a servant, an old man and an injured low-born knight managed to defeat two powerful witches?

And just what the hell was Gaius doing here? He was supposed to be back at the ruined castle. What could a helpless old man do in battle? Leon respected his medicinal skill and his scholarly mind, but—he’d disobeyed Arthur’s orders. Why had he come now?

He’d assumed that Merlin and Lancelot had failed in their mission, and Merlin was now walking around with a crease between his eyebrows and a limp. But Lancelot informed him later (without providing any details, and wasn’t that just the norm in Camelot) that it had been Merlin that had reached the Cup of Life and emptied it of the blood.

It had been Merlin who had saved Camelot. Pretty much.  
~~~~  
So much to do. Arthur was tending to the king, and had ordered Leon to tend to the knights. The new knights, the common born knights. “See to it that they have everything they need—armor, swords, livery, horses. Show them to their chambers, tell them where things are, what to expect. Once we’ve sorted things here and can resume our normal training schedule again, I will be leaning on you heavily. You will not just be training them, but helping them too. They are going to have to work twice as hard as those born to their position.”

Leon held his tongue, called upon his skill of maintaining a neutral countenance. “Yes, Sire.”

Arthur’s next instruction was to take the four new knights and fetch Guinevere. 

“Make sure they are fully recognizable as knights when you return to Camelot. I want all to see.”

Leon understood. Arthur was making a statement.

The five of them rode back into the citadel to find Merlin and Arthur waiting for them on the palace stairs. Sitting there, grinning widely, as if there was nothing to do and they had not a care in the world.

Gwen had slid off her horse and into Arthur’s arms, and they’d kissed again, in public. For all of Camelot to see.

Leon smiled along with everyone else.

He told himself not to look at Lancelot’s stony expression or Merlin’s stupid, dewey-eyed one.

Leon kept his mouth shut, as was his duty. His opinion on Arthur making a spectacle of himself with a commoner and a maidservant was not important to anyone but himself.

Except…Leon knew that it wasn’t quite that simple.

If Arthur had made Gwen his mistress, these concerns would be moot. After all, the idea of a blacksmith’s daughter elevated to the position of a prince’s mistress was outlandish enough. Many noblemen tried to put their daughters in the way of kings and princes as mistresses, for the wealth and prestige and power it could bring, especially if royal bastards were produced. And Arthur would still be free to marry an appropriate royal princess when the time came.

But no, he had to do this in public, to make his intentions clear: This woman is my chosen one.

If he chose to take this any further—to marry her, even—Arthur was going to be a laughing stock. One day, he would be king, and the five kingdoms needed to respect him, not laugh behind his back and to his face over his choice of a queen.

A new world was coming. One that was making Leon extremely nervous about the future.  
~~~~~  
So much to do. Queen Bitch and her cohorts had made a disaster of Camelot.

It took three days before the citadel even resembled what it should. Craftsmen had been dispatched all over the castle to begin repairs. Gaius’ hospital was finally beginning to settle down. Leon helped to organize assistance for the beleaguered townspeople, ensuring they had food, water and adequate shelter. They’d already begun the re-seeding process for the crops that had been destroyed during the fighting.

They’d been through much, and earned the assistance of the crown.

With the exception of appearing in public while bearing the crimson cloak and gold crest of Camelot, the new knights had not yet been called upon to do anything particularly knightly. Elyan was a blacksmith; Percival was a carpenter and a farmer. Gwaine and Lancelot had strong backs and willing hands too. All were more than resolved to help Camelot return to her former splendor.

Workers removed all of the rubble from the cave-in and explosion, expecting to find the bodies of Morgana and Morgause. There was nothing, not a trace of them.

Arthur was not a visible presence due to the king’s condition, and Leon felt the first full-on sense of worry for that situation begin to seep into his conscious. It must be bad, if Arthur wasn’t on the front lines.

Leon had forgotten what sleep felt like. He had managed to finally dispel his hunger, grabbing food from the kitchen and eating as he worked, but sleep had eluded him, save for quick catnaps here and there—between the last crisis and the next.

Merlin was everywhere, almost a liaison between the castle and the townspeople, helping Gaius tend to the wounded, helping the new knights settle in, and (Leon assumed) serving the prince as well. Lancelot had said something about Merlin being hurt, but it didn’t seem to be affecting him now.

Leon didn’t really have time to think about a single servant’s well being right now, though. There was a bigger picture to attend to.

On the third day after they’d taken Camelot back, Arthur did make an appearance on the castle steps. He spoke to the gathered crowd briefly, thanked them for their loyalty, assured them that Camelot was back in the rightful hands of the Pendragons and that they were safe once more. He promised that assistance would be coming, and that there would be changes made in the coming months, positive changes.

Arthur had inherited his father’s gift for public orating, and held the crowd in the palm of his hand with his words.

Despite the vagueness of Arthur’s message, the crowd cheered wildly when Arthur was done and dispersed with hopeful expressions.

Leon had been standing close enough to Arthur and Merlin to hear their quick exchange afterward:

“They loved my speech! I should start writing all of your speeches.”

“It wasn’t your speech, it was mine, and they would have loved anything I said, even if I’d started reciting recipes, Merlin…”

Merlin was writing Arthur’s speeches for him.

Servants were not supposed to write prince’s speeches for them.

Leon worked on keeping his feelings from showing on his face.  
~~~~~~~  
Arthur had said that Leon was not only to help train the knights, but help them too.

Leon thought he might understand what he’d meant, now. No one else was certainly willing to help them.

Half the time they couldn’t even help themselves.

No squire would agree to work for a knight “that wasn’t really a knight”. That was how the noblemen’s sons put it, when they’d been approached for assignment. No amount of pointing out that they had been knighted by the crown prince of Camelot, and that that made them knights without question, would disavow them from their beliefs or their refusals. They weren’t noble-born, and everyone knew that only nobility were knights.

Merlin was something like a squire to them all, whenever he could spare the time from Arthur and from Gaius. Leon wondered when Merlin found time to sleep, between being a squire for four knights, being a manservant and speechwriter for the prince, and a physician’s assistant. For someone so klutzy and useless, Merlin did manage to keep himself busy.

The noble-born knights that had survived the siege did not accept the new knights, of course, and more than one scuffle broke out when Leon’s back was turned, usually involving Gwaine in some capacity or another.

Usually the fights were in response to the noble knights taken exception to working with farmers and blacksmiths, and the new knights taking exception to being called non-knights…which, said quickly, sounded very much like “ninnies”.

Gwaine. Now there was a special case. Lancelot was a quiet, dignified fellow, always respectful and courteous. Percival was actually rather shy and a man of few words by choice, and who deferred to authority naturally. Elyan’s mother had been a maid in Leon’s household, and so he knew better than most what was expected in the way of behavior as a knight.

Leon found himself bonding with these men, despite the circumstances of their birth. Leon liked them, as people and as brothers in arms.

But Gwaine—Gwaine drove Leon mad. Loud mouthed, defiant, and a peacock, in every way not suited to be a pseudo-nobleman. Leon had half-expected that Gwaine would have returned to his vagabond ways after the first month, once he’d realized the discipline and commitment involved and that he couldn’t drink himself into a stupor every day.

Leon had been a bit surprised when Gwaine was still around after three months, and then five. And he was never drunk when called upon to train or patrol.

There didn’t pass a day when Gwaine wouldn’t flip his hair and showboat for any spectators. He’d wink and smile at the women and remove his shirt, parading about half-indecently. Orders to put his clothes back on were met with smirks, jeers and taunts. “What’s the matter, Leon, am I embarrassing you?”

It seemed to Leon that Gwaine did it on purpose, just to goad him. And not just him. Whenever the prince joined them (usually in afternoon training), Gwaine called him “princess”, which Arthur usually ignored.

To his great embarrassment, Leon often found himself engaged in some kind of verbal argument with Gwaine, the subject of which he was often not even sure of. The altercations never became physical and usually left Leon feeling like he’d lost, even when he wasn’t even sure of why they’d been fighting.

On one such occasion, when they’d been on the practice field and had gotten into it again, Merlin had happened to walk by. Everyone else had moved away and resumed training, but Leon had been still trying to get Gwaine to see how unbecoming his behavior was, and that he needed to at least try to behave as a noble. Gwaine had only mocked him. As knight captain, Leon had never had to deal with a challenge like Gwaine before.

Merlin had stopped, looked at them both for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

“You two—you guys are so funny! You remind me of two little boys still in their nappies, vying for the best toys. Don’t hurt yourselves!” And he’d walked off, still giggling to himself.

Leon looked after him, nonplussed.

Gwaine burst out laughing, and then ran to rejoin training.

It was like dealing with a child.  
~~~~~  
For all the problems in dealing with the new knights, Leon did have to admit that they were not slouches when it came to training. All of them were skilled with a sword, although technique definitely had to be refined. Gwaine and Lancelot were perhaps the most talented of all, but Elyan and Percival did very well too.

When they weren’t training, they were constantly being taught in other areas, including the ways of court and etiquette.

Gwaine often surprised them all by how quickly he picked up on such things. It was just applying it that he seemed to have a problem with.

One evening, Leon joined the four knights in Lancelot’s quarters as they all polished their armor together at Lancelot’s long table.

Arthur had sent Leon with an inquiry, instructing him to use discretion and tact.

Arthur told Leon to find out if any of them could read.

Leon clutched a rolled parchment in his hand, a rather inconsequential grainery report.

Truth be told, literacy even among noblemen was spotty at best. Most believed it unnecessary; that was what scribes and scholars were for, after all. Being able to read would certainly not help them on the battlefield.

On the other hand—education seemed to be something Arthur valued. As royalty, he’d had a complete education, not only in reading, writing and maths---Arthur had also studied the sciences, history, languages, art, music. He hadn’t been a particularly gifted or interested student as a youth, if Leon recalled correctly. His father’s ward—(Daughter, daughter she had been, Leon had to keep reminding himself) had far surpassed him, and Arthur had always been grateful enough to be released for more physical learning. And Morgana had actually taught her maidservant Gwen how to read—something very rare indeed for one of the peasant’s class.

Leon’s own education had extended past when most pages’ usually ended. Like Arthur, Leon’s mother had also thought learning important, and Leon’s father had indulged her by arranging for Leon to continue to be tutored almost until he was knighted. Leon had an appreciation for reading, and though he almost never had time, he still kept a few books in his room, waiting for time when he could indulge. He also remembered when he’d been recovering from injuries inflicted by the dragon when it had escaped those years ago—Merlin had brought books for him to help pass the time, and Leon had been shocked to discover the not only could Merlin read, but write and figure as well. (“Yes, Gaius teaches me all the time, but my mother taught me to read from the time I could stand.”)

It was exceptionally rare for a peasant to be able to read---(though it hadn’t occurred to Leon at the time to ask Merlin how his mother had happened to learn). Leon needed to find out if any of these new knights had the ability, and if he should start arranging for tutors for them.

They all surprised him.

Elyan said that his sister had taught him a little bit of reading growing up. “She was a bossy little thing, my sister. Still is. When she learned to read, she lorded it over me. When I left home and started my itinerant studies, I insisted on being taught rudimentary reading, though not very advanced.”

Lancelot had a similar story, saying that he’d worked off and on in exchange for lessons.

Percival had blushed all over and said that he knew the alphabet and how to write his name, but could only read a few words. “Merlin is helping to teach me”, he said shyly.

Merlin, again. He was just everywhere, wasn’t he. No wonder he was always late, never where he was supposed to be…

Leon looked around the table at everyone’s faces. They were all nodding and smiling at Percival in encouraging, approving, supportive ways. There wasn’t a trace of teasing or patronizing in any of their expressions.

Perfect. Two readers with a catch-as-catch-can education, one country bumpkin being taught by a serving boy, and he was willing to bet that Gwaine had never been within ten feet of an actual book.

“I can arrange for a proper tutor for you, in the palace”, Leon told Percival, very gently.

“Um…” Percival hesitated. He looked nervous. “I don’t know. Merlin is…well, he…”

“Merlin doesn’t mock”, Gwaine interjected, muttering and glaring at Leon.

“Yes, exactly”, Percival agreed.

“Merlin is stretched very thin these days”, Leon pointed out. “I’m sure we can find someone else more appropriate to help you.”

Percival blushed some more, didn’t say anything. Really, Leon hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but—

Gwaine clapped Percival on the shoulder. “You know how important being appropriate is to our friend here, Sir Stick-Up-His-A-“

“Gwaine!” Lancelot cut him off sharply.

Leon just glared at Gwaine. He was out of control, incorrigible.

Well, Arthur had said to be tactful, but—

“I don’t suppose you know how to read, do you, Gwaine. It’s not really something likely to be taught in taverns or brothels.”

No one said anything for a moment. Gwaine’s expression darkened, his mouth flattening into a smirk.

“May I?” he asked, ultra-polite and sarcastic, indicating the scroll Leon had brought with him. He picked it up without waiting for an answer, unrolled it with a flourish, and began reading.

Except…he wasn’t just reading. He was orating, with the diction and voice projection one usually reserved for court.

And he was reading perfectly, easily, with effortless inflection. He was putting life into a grainery report, making it sound like poetry.

Everyone at the table just stared, wide-eyed.

When he’d finished, he closed the scroll and slapped it into Leon’s palm with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Then he picked up an apple from Lancelot’s fruit bowl and crunched into it noisily, studiously ignoring them all.

“Gwaine. Where did you…” Leon started to say.

Gwaine rose abruptly from his seat, started for the door.

“Where are you going? Come back here, I want to speak to you”, Leon demanded.

“To find a chamber pot. This conversation has given me gas.” And he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Shortly after that incident, Arthur’s uncle Agravaine arrived in Camelot, the very essence of nobility. He was something of a surprise--while Leon had heard that there was family on Arthur’s mother side still surviving, they had been apparently estranged from Uther. That in itself was not surprising--the King had estranged a lot of people, undeniably--but Leon did not think that Arthur had seen his uncle in many years. And it was hard for Leon to think of Agravaine as family to Arthur--he certainly didn’t resemble him physically, with his black hair and dark eyes and chunky, fading handsomeness.

Once again, Leon reminded himself that it was not his concern, that the prince had accepted Agravaine’s presence and his offer of assistance readily, happily, gratefully. And that was all that mattered.

Agravaine was very old school in his manner and mind set, but also very respectful of Camelot’s crown prince. He made a point of always deferring to Arthur’s vocalized preferences in court and council meetings. He was, Leon felt, a boon for the kingdom, and while he did not yet know the man well, Leon held him in high regard. He would be of great help and solace to Arthur, Leon was sure of that. Most importantly, however, he would help ease Arthur’s burden.

Agravaine’s presence also meant that Arthur had more time to train properly again with the knights, yet another quarter Leon felt grateful to Agravaine for.

As much as he admired and approved of Lord Agravaine, Leon did not like it whenever the man approached him on the training grounds or in the corridors of the palace or in the stables or the courtyard. Agravaine had an uncanny habit of catching Leon when he was alone, and asking him how he felt about this policy or that nobleman. The questions were never inflammatory and seemed quite innocent to Leon--Agravaine had not been in Camelot for quite some time and was trying to take the temperature of the kingdom, find out how things worked, and what  
didn’t work. That was what good advisors did. He could only advise Arthur well if he was well-informed himself.

That was what Leon told himself, anyway. Yet the feelings of unease never quite dissipated. 

It seemed to Leon that Agravaine wanted to pump Leon for information, to get him to speak out about anything or anyone at any given moment. Leon always answered as neutrally and diplomatically as he could, whatever he might feel about the subject at hand. Palace politics could be back-stabbing and treacherous, after all—Leon’s candor had to be reserved for Arthur.

Agravaine’s response, every time, was to look at him for a long, hard moment, and Leon would wonder if he didn’t look somewhat disappointed at times. But Agravaine would then always smile, a quick, polite, automatic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and thank Leon for his help.

After the first month, Agravaine stopped asking Leon for his opinions.

~~~~~  
Leon had been compelled to get creative in convincing Sir Gwaine to settle down and start acting like a knight. The other peasant knights had all molded into their assignments and routines well enough, despite the continuing, barely-suppressed resentment and non-acceptance of the noble-born knights.

Gwaine was the last hold out. He got into fights defending Elyan, Lancelot, and Percival, and was overly outspoken if not downright defiant to Leon, questioning and even challenging his authority more than once.

He could have reported him to the prince of course, let Gwaine suffer through and be shamed by both Arthur’s anger and disappointment in him, but Leon thought Arthur had enough on his plate as it was. Besides—Leon wasn’t ready to admit defeat to this long-haired commoner.

Leon waited until one bracingly cold early morning on the training field, and he saw whom he’d been waiting to speak with.

Merlin happened to pass Leon on the sidelines as Arthur put some of the older knights through their paces. Further down the field, two groups were also training with quarter staffs, split into groups of nobles and common knights.

As always, Merlin’s gaze was fixed on Arthur and what he was doing, seemingly not even noticing Leon or the other knights.

Leon stopped him, asked him for a word. Merlin’s response was to fumble and drop the shield he’d been carrying. (Leon wasn’t sure why he’d been carrying it and didn’t ask.) “Erm. Sorry”, Merlin muttered.

Leon wasn’t sure if Merlin was talking to him or to the shield.

Leon couldn’t help but chuckle. For all his clumsiness and general lack of competence, Leon was becoming rather fond of Merlin, if for nothing else, his witticisms and ability to get along with most people. He could be quite endearing and entertaining on occasion.

“I want to ask you for your help with the new knights, Merlin. You seem to get along well with them, and I know you are cut from the same cloth—“

Leon saw Merlin’s mouth twitch slightly at that, though his expression remained carefully neutral and listening.

“Of course, anything”, Merlin said, the standard, expected servant’s response. “What can I do?”

“I know you enjoy going to the tavern, Merlin.” Leon had heard Arthur complaining about Merlin seemingly forever at the tavern when he needed him. That puzzled Leon; he’d seen Merlin drink before, or try to drink; he’d been wholly snookered after two tankards and fallen asleep under the table. And he was very rarely at the tavern when the knights were there...in fact, Leon couldn’t remember seeing Merlin at any tavern in over a year.

Merlin pursed his lips, tilted his head slightly.

“I would like to ask you to take Gwaine after training and have a conversation with him, man to man.”

There was a pause, and then Merlin said, “A talk. With Gwaine.”

“Yes, that is what I said.”

“About anything in particular?” The boy sounded oddly puzzled.

“Well, I know you have been in service to the prince and a citizen in Camelot for some time. You’re part of Arthur’s most trusted circle.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows in an unmistakable “If you say so” look. Leon took that as a sign for him to continue.

“I would like your assistance in explaining to Gwaine that his behavior is not suited for that of a knight. This constantly being in discord with his fellow knights, the boisterous, overly-vocal way he presents himself, his defiance of—“

“When you say fellow knights”, Merlin interrupted, “I’m assuming you mean the nobles? Everyone but Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, and Gwaine, right?”

Leon was a bit sidetracked by being interrupted by a servant, but he sternly reminded himself not to be offended, that Merlin meant no offense.

“Yes, of course, that is what I mean. Gwaine needs to learn to restrain himself from conflicts with them, and I thought that you…”

“Have you spoken with the noble knights?” Merlin interrupted again. “Asked them to act more like knights, stop bullying Gwaine and the others, treat them fairly and with respect, as is part of the knights’ code?”

Leon opened his mouth, thought of and discarded several different answers, and closed his mouth again. Merlin just watched him, face neutral, until Leon settled on, “It’s really not that simple, Merlin.” Really, Merlin wasn’t a knight, how could he possibly understand?

“Have you spoken with Gwaine, maybe explained why you feel it’s important that he acquiesce to the noble-borns?”

Oh, for—

And what was a servant doing using a word like “acquiesce” anyway?

Doggedly, Leon tried once more. “It’s very important that all knights act as a cohesive unit, especially in times of battle. The new knights have been a disruptive addition to that cohesiveness and that can have a negative impact on the smooth carrying out of duties. The knights simply need more time to adjust to the new knights. They’ll come around eventually, but not if Gwaine continues to behave like a common bandit at the slightest provocation.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows again at Leon and then said in quick, rapid-fire succession, “Some of the noble borns tried to steal Gwaine’s pendant from him last week. They provoked him quite a bit—the pendant has significant meaning for Gwaine. You confined him to his quarters for fighting, but I saw some of the nobles involved out in the marketplace later that same day. Why weren’t they punished as well? Isn’t stealing against the knights’ code?”

Of course it was, Merlin knew it was, everyone knew it was, but--Leon was actually stunned for a moment. Gwaine had said nothing of an attempt at thievery upon him. This was a very serious accusation. And Merlin was right about one thing, the knights, all of them, were expected to abide by strict codes of honor.

Carefully, Leon said, “I wasn’t aware of any stealing taking place.”

Again, with the same rapid fire delivery, Merlin said, “Did you ask Gwaine about it?”

No, he hadn’t asked Gwaine anything. He’d only assumed that Gwaine had instigated another clash, which he seemed to revel in.

When Leon didn’t answer, Merlin said, “Did you ask the noble-borns what the fight was about?”

Quickly, Leon said, “I doubt very much that the knights actually tried to steal anything. My guess would be that they intended to test Gwaine, to prank him into thinking they were about to take something from him. They may have hoped he would have reacted calmly, rather than jumping in with flying fists of fury. Gwaine has a reputation of over reacting.”

Merlin gave him a silent, scoffing “Come on” look, but came back verbalizing again almost before Leon had finished speaking with, “Wouldn’t that be considered provocation? That thing you don’t want Gwaine to do anymore? Why is it okay for them to do that and not him? How would they react if he did that to them, do you think—“

“Merlin!” Leon cut him off sharply. How the hell did Arthur put up with this, this badgering and circular logic, day in and day out? It had to be exhausting for him.

Speaking to Merlin had obviously been a mistake.

“I’m just asking you to try to see things from Gwaine’s point of view for once”, Merlin said, and Leon felt the fool.

“I will look into the matter. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Apparently Gwaine had whined to his friend Merlin about the whole affair.

Merlin’s grin was sudden and blinding. “Thank you! I know you’re a fair man, Leon, and Gwaine’s a handful. He reminds me of a friend I had back in my home village, ‘cept Gwaine fights a lot better. And I’ll try to talk him into mellowing out a bit after training today. “

Throughout the entire exchange, Merlin’s eyes had kept glancing toward the field where Arthur was practicing, always tracking him. Now Merlin seemed to start a little, and Leon turned quickly to see Arthur striding off the field.

“I have to go”, Merlin said quickly, and before Leon could say anything more, Merlin was loping towards Arthur. He watched as they fell into step together, and heard Arthur’s laugh at something Merlin said. They separated at the edge of the training field, with Merlin jogging off towards the stables and Arthur continuing on towards the palace.

The shield Merlin had been carrying and dropped was still on the ground, forgotten.

How did Arthur put up with him?

~~~~~~

Almost miraculously, things with the knights began to improve after Leon’s little talk with Merlin, although it was doubtful Merlin actually had anything to do with it.

But Leon did speak to the knights that had been involved in the incident Merlin had told him of, and then to Gwaine, and had come away from it all believing he’d been a pawn in an incident of injustice. He ordered the older knights to apologize to Sir Gwaine, but Gwaine had just laughed and left the room before they could. (Of course, just as Leon had suspected, the others claimed they had no interest in the chain and charms Gwaine always wore at his neck, they’d merely intended a little joke. A moment of camaraderie, as it were. Leon had told them they were full of crap and that they could think about it confined to their quarters for the next two days. Without chamber maids.)

Gwaine didn’t seem to pick quite as many fights with Leon after that.

Leon didn’t know if Merlin had actually spoken with Gwaine, asked him to tone down his behavior at all, but he did know that Gwaine and Merlin and the other new knights had spent a night at the tavern all together. Along with the new knights, nine tenths of the old knights were also there. Leon knew this because they were all still there the next morning when Leon went looking for them.

Most of them had been asleep or just rousing from their stupor. Lancelot looked a little rough around the edges, and he was trying to get Elyan up off the floor while Percival laughed at him. Some of the noble knights actually staggered over to help.

But Merlin…Leon had no fucking clue how he’d managed it, but he was asleep on one of the rafter beams, about twelve feet off the ground. No one knew how he’d gotten up there in the first place, but his narrow arse was still balanced precariously on one of the even narrower beams, a pint between his legs, and he was dozing against one of the bigger support beams. His bare feet dangled on either side of the beam he was perched on.

Leon stood in the middle of the room, looking up at Merlin, contemplating how he might coax the servant down. Arthur would probably be wondering where he was soon.

Gwaine careened into him drunkenly, chuckling to himself, and slurred to Leon, “Ar-turrr’ssh he-yah!” He pointed vaguely towards the window, barely missing putting out Leon’s eye with his index finger.

Lancelot turned around to look, stumbling in the too-sudden move, and smiled slightly. “He’s come for Merlin”, he repeated, still smiling. 

Lancelot hadn’t stopped smiling since Leon had entered the tavern.

Leon sighed. Arthur had come looking for Merlin.

Arthur entered a few moments later, taking in the room and the various knights still about and then looking at Leon wordlessly. Leon just pointed up.

Lancelot smiled.

Leon helped Arthur arrange a chair on top of a table, and offered to get Merlin down himself, but the prince was already stepping up and onto the somewhat unsteady tower they had made. Carefully, he pulled Merlin down with both hands at his waist, the way a nurse might lift a child.

Arthur’s face was exasperated and annoyed, but his hands on Merlin were gentle as he guided him down and started steering him towards the door.

Gwaine had sat down at the table to watch but had fallen asleep on it. Now, though, he sat up abruptly, yelling, “Mer-lin! Shoosh! You don’t have any shoosh!”

Leon eventually found one of Merlin’s boots (what Gwaine had been referring to as his “shoosh”) outside in the watering trough, and another under the tavern’s bar. He tucked them into his saddlebag just as Merlin started to retch all over Arthur’s horse and of course, all over the prince. Arthur’s perturbed “MERLIN!” could probably be heard back in the citadel.

 

Drinking mates did tend to forgive each other more readily, and now all the knights had drank and become three sheets to the wind together.  
~~~~~~  
Unwittingly, Arthur did get involved in the knights rivalry too. Since Agravaine was now taking on some of his burden, he was able to spend more time with the new knights. Very pointedly, he took Leon and the four new knights with him (and of course Merlin, always Merlin) on almost every patrol and quest and trip outside the city gates. The townspeople became accustomed to seeing Arthur, Merlin, and the five red-cloaked knights riding in and out the courtyard together. As did all the other knights. The implication of the prince’s favor and trust were there for everyone to see.

The new knights vs. the noble knights situation was still not where it should be, but it was vastly improved from six months ago.

~~~~~~

Leon was starting to hate ever being in the palace corridors.

It happened almost every day now. He’d have his head buried in a report, or be talking with someone, and round a corner, and there they’d be: Arthur and Guinevere. Usually standing in front of some window, the light streaming in making them look otherworldly, hands held together at heart level, just…looking at each other. Gwen didn’t seem to be scolding Arthur these days—usually, if he caught any scraps from their conversations, he heard her whispering platitudes to him, telling him that he was precious and true and would one day be a great king, she knew. She was adoring and worshipful. And Arthur—well. Arthur always had an expression during these times that he wore at no other time---a kind of beatific, child-like look that implied “Tell me more about how stupendous I am.” 

It was rather sickeningly sweet, honestly.

Now this was absolutely, positively none of his business, and Leon had perfected a method of smiling indulgently, lowering his eyes and backing away and out of earshot from the two star-struck…friends. 

Usually not before both Gwen and Arthur gave him twin sheepish-but-smug looks.

And Leon usually found Merlin lurking somewhere nearby too, grinning his too-wide moronic grin. The serving boy was like a compass when it came to Arthur, always pointing towards him.

~~~~~~

The knights of Camelot seemed to finally be slotting into place together somewhat, both noble and new. (Arthur had taken Leon aside one day and told him that he preferred that the four knights of the round table be referred to as new knights now, rather than low-born knights or common knights. Leon wanted to say that it wasn’t him calling them that, accurate though the terms may be, but---he’d stuck with his usual, appropriate, “Yes, sire.”)

Leon was very glad indeed that Gwaine and the other new knights were not quite as much of a problem as they had been, because other concerns were beginning to toll upon him.

His family. Miraculously, Leon’s mother had survived Morgana and Cendred’s destructive siege, as had his aunt (Leon’s father’s sister.) But his uncle had been in failing health and finally succumbed a few months after the attempted coup.

That meant that left only Leon himself, and his young cousin Henrik to carry on the family bloodline. There was now quite a bit of pressure for Leon to marry and produce an heir. Both his mother and aunt had offered to arrange a marriage for him, but Leon had declined. As pleasing as the idea of having a helpmate as well as a sexual partner at the ready was, he simply did not have time at this point. Instead, he strongly encouraged them to find a match for Henrik first.

Henrik had matured quite a bit, both physically and otherwise, since he’d been assigned to guard Camelot’s borders. Leon saw him only briefly when they’d gathered for Henrik’s father’s memorial. Leon was resigned to the fact that Henrik’s hair would always be that shocking ginger, but at least he’d built up some muscle core and had also gained quite a bit of confidence. He did not know Henrik well, but Leon found himself proud and approving of the young man who was only able to stay with his newly-widowed mother very briefly before returning to his post at Gedreff.

Henrik would make a very fine match for the young noblewoman soon to be found for him.

~~~~~~  
Just as the situation with the knights seem to stabilize, King Uther’s health seem to decline.

He was very rarely seen in public at all these days, but Leon had been outside the King’s quarters on more than one occasion, and had heard him shouting for Arthur or Morgana, or sometimes simply yelling incoherently.

It was worrisome and unsettling, to know that one’s strong, forceful king was now reduced to this diminished, heart-broken shell. His mind and spirit had been stolen with his illegitimate child’s betrayal. In the first few months afterward, Leon had believed, as Arthur had, as everyone had, that with time the wounds of the heart   
would heal and Uther would be able to rule again.

If anything, Uther seemed only to grow worse. On occasion, Leon had joined Arthur in the king’s quarters—he did have moments of lucidity—and seen a grey-haired, unshaven, dull-eyed shadow of the Uther he’d known.

On one morning, Leon had been accompanying Arthur to the king’s chambers, for Arthur intended to have breakfast with his father. They’d been able to hear shouting from the king, apparent displeasure at whatever servant had been attempting to assist him---and then the doors had flown open and Uther had stormed out with purpose, muttering about taking care of things himself.

Except that the king had not been wearing any clothes.

“Alarming” was not a strong-enough word.

Hastily, Leon helped the prince cover the king with his cloak and whisk him back behind closed doors before anyone could witness the king’s confused state. Arthur had been gentle and patient with his father, but his face was ashen and there were unshed tears in his eyes. He would not meet Leon’s eyes. He’d spoken to Uther in the most soothing manner, and Leon could only wait with them helplessly for Gaius to arrive with a sleeping draught that would allow the king to rest and give him some peace. 

Afterward, Arthur had informed Leon very sharply, and with the unspoken threat very clear, that he was never to speak of this to anyone, ever. Of course, Leon had had no intention of ever doing so---what purpose would it serve, to let anyone know that the king he served was not in his right mind, had been felled by the treachery of an evil sorceress of his own seed? Part of the knights’ code also included discretion, and Leon would never gossip, even with his own family.

After that day, Guinevere was assigned as the king’s primary caregiver, an arrangement that Leon wondered about. He knew, of course, that it all came down to Gwen’s burgeoning relationship with the prince, and that before then, she really did not have a reason to be working in the palace any longer. He also knew that Arthur wanted someone near his weakened father that he could trust implicitly, but---Uther had had Guinevere’s father killed, all those years ago. Privately, Leon wondered how she had come to agree to taking on the responsibility of caring for a man she must resent if not outright hate, even as devoted to Arthur as she was. Leon admired Gwen’s endlessly selfless, giving nature even as he pitied her being in that position.

Leon did not, of course, voice any of his concerns. It was not his place. He, unlike some big-eared individuals and their long-haired mates, knew that.

Leon could see Arthur’s unsettled pain whenever the king’s health was asked after, and so after a time, he stopped asking. But Uther’s absence at counsel, at court, at ceremonies, was conspicuous. Arthur included his father’s name in all things, even always insisting that the king’s empty throne always be present and obvious. It was almost as if Uther was just away and was expected back, any day now, and Arthur was just filling in.

Arthur was a good and loyal son. And he was very quickly becoming a very good regent.


	4. Chapter 4

Unsurprisingly, Agravaine did not approve of Merlin.

Well. Truth be told, Agravaine never came out and said such a thing, but Leon had no doubt that Arthur’s uncle felt that way unequivocally.

Leon had had the chance to observe him on many occasions, and had noted that Agravaine, like himself, understood the value of staying silent while taking the measure of any circumstance or man. As such, Leon noted the other man’s expressions as Agravaine observed Arthur and his manservant interact together at banquets and feasts, during councils and court, training, patrols, or even just walking across the courtyard--everywhere. He saw Agravaine notice every time Merlin was tardy or absent, or spilled something, or when he tripped over his own feet or thin air. He saw Agravaine register all the times he whispered something to Arthur privately, even during formal affairs, (when all of the other servants were silent and deferent), and witnessed Arthur respond with either a bemused smirk or an exasperated eye roll, and sometimes, whispering a response back to him. Agravaine took in all the times Merlin entered a room with Arthur, not behind him, but at his side, and continue to walk with him, rather than take his place to the side of the room, inconspicuously, as all servants were expected. Agravaine occasionally accompanied Arthur, the knights and Merlin on patrols, and Leon saw the older man’s questioning, puzzled gaze at Merlin’s presence--not to mention the fact Merlin always rode at Arthur’s side at the front of their moving columns, rather than behind them all, as was traditional for servants.

Most of all, Agravaine definitely tracked how Arthur never seemed to correct Merlin, never told him he needed to walk behind him or bow to him (Merlin never bowed to the Crown Prince, which Agravaine must find appalling), never held his tongue, and often spoke very inappropriately to Arthur, to everyone, really. He was far too forthcoming, even on occasion suggesting courses of action and consideration.

And Arthur not only didn’t correct him, he actually listened to Merlin’s blathering, on more than one occasion.

No, Agravaine definitely did not approve of Merlin, silence or no. Early on, when Agravaine had first arrived in Camelot and Merlin hadn’t arrived at a meeting when Arthur was expecting him, Agravaine had casually suggested getting rid of the “incompetent boob” and hiring someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Leon had held his breath. Arthur usually deferred to his uncle’s advice...

But Arthur had been casual and unaffected, even absent-minded. “I know, he must seem truly useless to a new observer such as yourself, and he is an idiot, I agree.” Arthur rolled up the scroll he’d been reading, looked up at his uncle with a slight smile. “But he has his purposes too, as all do. And I have no desire to break in a new manservant.”

“Sire. I am sure there are plenty of experienced....”

Arthur held up a hand for silence--and that was new, that gesture, he’d only recently begun to use that as a signal for whomever he was speaking with to stop talking. It was really quite...kingly.

Leon wondered if Agravaine had noticed that Arthur never used that particular silent command with Merlin...which was probably just as well, because Merlin would probably just ignore him anyway.

But Agravaine wasn’t about to let it go. “I am concerned that all of your needs aren’t being met, that is all, Sire. Merlin has many fine qualities, I’m sure, but--”

“Do not concern yourself thus, I am managing quite well enough. Now, if you would take a look at this petition...”

Again, Leon saw Agravaine register the blatant dismissal Arthur had given him, how the man fought to school his face into the correct expression of acceptance. Merlin could learn a thing or two from him.

Leon was also completely aware that the brief exchange between nephew and uncle had not appeased Agravaine at all and that he was still put out by Arthur’s frank disregard for his counsel in this. Quite put out indeed.

Leon concentrated on keeping his own expression neutral and non-reactive. He almost failed when he wondered if Agravaine had witnessed the yearning, mouth-staring gazes the prince and his manservant often exchanged, looks suggesting silent conversations were taking place between them.

~~~~~  
Another patrol, and Agravaine had chosen to accompany their party, no particular reason given.

Leon silently reminded himself that Agravaine did not need a reason, he was a lord and a member of the royal family, but--

To be honest, Arthur didn’t belong on this trip either, and by extension, neither did Merlin. Arthur was suffering from a summer cold that had Merlin fussing over him, calling him “stubborn” and “prat” and constantly berating him for not resting as he should be. For once, Leon had to agree with Merlin. The prince didn’t look well, was pale and sweaty and hoarse-throated. His balance appeared to be off too, judging by the careful way he’d mounted his horse and Merlin’s attempt at discreetly helping him. And there was the matter of the heat too--Camelot was in the throes of a ferocious heat wave, and Arthur was wearing his usual chainmail, quilted undercoat and armor which had to be akin to being encased in a steel oven and roasted alive. 

All of the other knights, Leon included, wore only chainmail over light tunics--sacrificing extra safety for practical comfort. Or in other words--

They needed to be able to breathe, but they were all still miserable in the heated metal.

And when the prince succumbed to the heat an hour into the patrol and began convulsing, burning with fever, it was Merlin who took charge, shoving his ever-present neckerchief in Arthur’s mouth to prevent Arthur biting his own tongue. 

When he was still again, Lancelot helped him undress the prince, and Percival carried him to a nearby stream and then left with Gwaine to fetch Gaius. Elyan prepared salt water for Arthur and helped him to drink when he was able. Merlin and Leon stood in the stream, Merlin supporting Arthur’s head, Leon keeping the prince in place. And even when Gaius arrived, Merlin called to him to be careful, not to slip on the stream’s slippery rocks.

The silly, bumbling manservant had saved the prince’s life and organized his care like a field marshal. 

It still didn’t seem to endear him to Agravaine, though.

Through it all, Agravaine had watched and said nothing...and done nothing.

~~~~~~  
Leon’s position as knight captain had him taking on ever-increasing responsibility. At Arthur’s behest, he was spending more and more time with Agravaine, and Leon began to admire the man’s commitment to learning everything he could to further Camelot’s being a prosperous, safe kingdom. Leon had been charged by the prince regent to assist Agravaine as much as possible, take him on tours of the castle, the catacombs and siege tunnels, explain the citadel’s weaknesses and strengths. There were many hours spent in Agravaine’s chambers, poring over maps with the man, strategizing, trying to prepare for all contingencies. Arthur had stated that while he was well aware that no reports from any of their garrisons had indicated that Morgana was even still within the kingdom, he strongly suspected, and Leon agreed, that it was only a matter of time. Agravaine’s wise help in readiness was most welcome.

And yet Leon could only admit to himself that being in Agravaine’s presence always left him feeling somehow uncomfortable and just the slightest bit tarnished.

Of course, his personal feelings were nonsense, honestly. Agravaine was almost smarmy in his attempts to demonstrate his resolve and his fealty to Arthur. He laughed loudest at Arthur’s humor, he empathized the most strongly with Arthur’s disappointments and frustrations, he gave very sound counsel. Camelot was fortunate to have him on their side. He sought to find common ground with Leon, too, often complimenting him on his riding skills (Agravaine himself was a quite accomplished horseman) as well as noticing and conversing with him on Leon’s affinity for the bow. 

Leon had learned archery as a squire, as all squires were trained in all weapons. His talent was complimented on generously, and Leon had spent many hours practicing during his private time. He’d developed a true appreciation for finely crafted bows. Leon thought that if he had been born of a lesser station, he might have found fulfillment in being an archer.

Archers were by design rough and earthy and if they were of nobility, they were usually of the lesser class. No, a knight’s weapon was his sword, a symbol of his higher status. Leon accepted that, as he did all things inevitable. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying archery competitions (and even participating when the opportunities arose) as well as amassing a small collection of well-hewn bows, quivers and arrows.

As before, Agravaine eventually ceased his overtures at conversation with Leon and kept their interactions strictly work-related. Leon responded with his usual polite deference, secretly glad to be on familiar ground. They were, after all, lord and knight. It wasn’t really Leon’s place to socialize with the prince’s uncle...even if Leon had had a personal opinion of him. Some people just didn’t mesh, after all. It was a personality difference, and not anything of importance or consequence.  
~~~~~~  
After almost a year of silence and peace, Morgana was back.

It felt like mere confirmation of a year’s-long expectation.

They’d been on patrol, on far outreach where they did not expect to encounter anyone. It was a patrol of four, himself and Elyan along with two of the noble--er, older knights, and had come across a most incongruous sight: a woman in black, laboriously dragging a two-wheeled cart behind her.

Leon had had a dreadful feeling...

He’s demanded the woman stop, asked her where she was heading..

“Seas of Meridor”. She hadn’t turned around, hadn’t shown herself.

The Seas of Meridor was where the Isle of the Blessed was.

He recognized the voice, even deceptively demure as it sought to be. “What’s in the cart?” Leon demanded. 

Even so...Leon was still shocked at the first glimpse of the hated illegitimate daughter of the king he’d had in a year. Her physical appearance--the wild, unkept hair, hooded, black lace gown and those soulless, shark-like eyes -- hit him almost like a physical blow. Later, he was pissed off at his reaction, wanting to kick himself for blurting, “Lady Morgana!”--she certainly did not deserve being addressed with that title of respect, and she was the furthest thing from a lady that anyone could imagine-- but apparently, stupidly, Leon’s ingrained habits of deference hadn’t dwindled with her treachery.

He only had time to gesture quickly to the other knights before she’d blasted them all forcefully, with nothing but the flick of her wrist.

Leon landed painfully hard on the rocky ground, and his last thought before blackness took him was “She enjoys herself far too much.”

~~~~~  
“The reports are true, Sire. We caught up with Morgana on the plains of Dinaria.”

“Was she alone?”

 

Elyan spoke up. “There was someone else.” Leon threw a sharp, reproachful look at him for that. That was unconfirmed. They hadn’t been able to tell for sure--by the time they’d come to and gotten their fallen comrades draped and tied on their horses, the she-witch and her cart were long gone.

Of course, Elyan was probably too right...

Arthur guessed, “Morgause.”

“We couldn’t be sure”, Elyan said, and Leon made an irritated note to himself to go over reporting extensively with all his knights at the first possible opportunity. Just the facts...

Agravaine had been watching and listening to the exchange with a sharp, focused expression. “Where was Morgana heading?”

“To the Seas of Meridor.”

“The Isle of the Blessed”, Gaius said gravely. 

There was an almost palpable ripple of fear in the room. Agravine moved forward. Leon saw Merlin twitch ever so slightly; he was always so nervous about the mention of any type of magic. Obviously, Merlin was one of the many in Camelot afraid of magic and its users, and smartly so.

“I’ll send out patrols at first light”, Agravaine said, and the prince thanked him sincerely and was about to call for dismissal, but Leon had one more thing to add:

“Sire. You should know, her powers have grown.” And then Leon had the awful duty of informing his regent that two of his knights were dead in his half-sister’s latest attack.

Leon saw Arthur quietly grieve and remember, and Agravine swallowed heavily. The room hushed for a moment as everyone honored the dead in their own quiet ways too. 

“Keep me informed of any developments.”

Leon recognized the upset dismissal for what it was. Arthur hated losing men, always held himself personally responsible for each one. Leon knew just how he felt. 

And Arthur had been obsessing over a reappearance of Morgana for a year. 

There was nothing that could be done, for now. As one, he and Elyan bowed and walked from the room, followed by the rest of the audience.

~~~~~~~

While Elyan, himself and the two deceased knights had been on patrol, Gwaine and Percival had been stealing food from the kitchens through a grate in the ceiling. (Which they’d apparently found vastly amusing, too.) There were also some insinuations that Merlin had helped. Leon was so not surprised.

Helga the Cook (known as Helga the Hellcat in the taverns for her distinctly unpleasant demeanor) had complained about the knights to him. Numerous times.

Leon didn’t have time for this.

He’d smiled his most conciliatory, polite smile and nodded and apologized on their behalves, and vowed to himself he was going to have both knights cleaning the knights’ privvy right after tonight’s Feast of Samhain. 

Truth be told, the last thing Leon felt like doing tonight was feasting, but as with all celebrations and as a knight, he was expected to attend in the palace’s Great Hall. He felt on edge, though--even though the mead flowed freely, and Helga’s cooking was very good, there seemed an odd...feeling in the air. He’d been a knight and a soldier in Camelot for sometime now. Something just felt off.

He tried to ignore it , tell himself it was just the lingering nerves of the attack and the loss of two fine men, but the feeling remained. 

So, when Arthur rose from the main table to lead them all in a toast to the king, Leon rose with everyone else. He looked around at all of the knights nearest him, and the knights across from him. None of them seem to feel that anything was out of place. They toasted, and of course Gwaine, already well into his cups, sloshed wine everywhere...

It was a second only. A vast chill seem to sweep through the hall. The candles flickered. It almost seemed as if time slowed, just for an intense instant. Leon felt his heartbeat speed up. And then--

Merlin swooned. 

Merlin could not even fall unobtrusively. He went down with a tremendous clatter from the pitcher he’d been holding and shocked everyone’s attention to him. 

Leon had only a moment to register two things. One was that Arthur was looking down at his manservant’s prone, sprawled figure on the floor with a mixture of concern and exasperation; and the second thing was that for some unfathomable reason, Leon’s sense of unease had just ratcheted up about another forty notches. 

And it wasn’t over a dim-witted manservant who had apparently forgotten to eat.

Lancelot was upon Merlin in a moment, gathering him up over his shoulder and bearing him to Gaius’ chambers to be tended to. The last thing Leon heard from Lancelot was his muttering about how deathly cold Merlin was.

The party broke up shortly after that, and Leon dropped wearily into bed before remembering he’d intended to have Gwaine and Percival on scatterings duty. 

~~~~~~  
It started just after first light.

A young girl was brought to the palace by knights on the evening patrol--sobbing and nearly hysterical. The knights--two from the old order, good men both, had told Leon that they’d come across her and her ruined village just before dawn, that she’d told them a tale of creatures “without faces”. Leon personally wondered if the misfortunate Dreya was so upset that she wasn’t thinking clearly and wanted to question her furthur, but Agravaine stepped in with his usual assurance...

...and proceeded, with his usual brusque, no nonsense manner, to set the girl’s tears running anew. 

Leon had to fight his growing impatience. If only the girl would stop sobbing and just tell them what had happened. Maybe it was nothing, or some marauders that could swiftly be dealt with. Usually, he could deal with civilians well enough, but--

The feeling he’d had since the day before, the one that had him sleeping only in fits and starts the night before, increased a little more.

It didn’t look like they’d be getting any information from her today.

While Gaius talked quietly to the girl, managing to calm her with his gentle reassurances, Agravaine summoned the regent from slumber and Arthur soon arrived, Merlin in tow. 

It was always like this. Camelot’s subjects recognized their golden prince now, often responded to him as they would not others. Arthur was deliberately gentle and careful with the girl, even introducing himself as “Arthur”, no title, and inviting her to tell them what had happened.

Her entire family had been taken, attacked, she said--parents and little sisters--but she couldn’t say who. “It was no one” she shuddered. “Just shapes.”

What on earth....

She wasn’t going to be any help at all.

A cold draft seem to blow through the room.

“You didn’t see their faces?” Arthur pressed a little more.

“They had no faces.”

Everyone just looked at each other. Leon saw Merlin look around furtively, nervously.

“I keep telling you. They were there, but they weren’t there. They moved so quickly....!” The girl’s already tremulous, high-pitched voice rose again, apparently reliving the moment...

“It was as if they weren’t real, but...they must have been. I could hear the people screaming. And then...silence. They were all...dead.” She was sobbing again, full-on now, and Arthur finally gave up, thanked the girl as if she’d solved a case for the ages, and handed her off to Gaius. 

No. No help at all.

Around him, even veteran knights whispered amongst themselves. Her ghost story had gotten to them all. 

After a few brief words exchanged with Agravaine, Arthur looked up and caught Leon’s eye. They’d been together for a long time now; Leon knew what that look meant. They were going hunting for these “faceless” creatures. 

Leon fell into step directly behind Arthur and marched out of the room. He caught a glimpse of Merlin’s milk-white face as he moved to walk behind them all. Merlin was obviously already very afraid.

Leon could understand why. 

~~~~~~~~~

Leon’s understanding of Merlin’s natural jitteriness faded after about the first hour of riding with him, while Merlin all but fell out of his saddle over every bird call, every horse’s sudden movement. 

Honestly, he’d never understand why Arthur insisted on always having him along. Especially since it was Arthur who always seemed to wind up trying to distract him and get him to ease up a bit with the nervousness.

“Do you need your comfort blanket?”

Leon sorely wished they’d brought it--he could strangle Merlin with it.

Ahead of him, Leon could see Lancelot smile indulgently at the prince’s banter with Merlin. 

Leon rolled his eyes. Did everyone in Camelot see Merlin as their little brother?

Lancelot’s horse neighed suddenly--that was what horses did, for crying out loud, they occasionally needed to hear themselves. Merlin over-reacted again. Leon wondered if Merlin had brought along an extra pair of trousers for the trip.

Leon wasn’t usually so irked by the prince and his manservant’s usual back and forth. He often found them quite amusing and funny. 

He just wasn’t finding any humor at all today, especially when they came upon the girl’s abandoned, silent, tense village. 

It had an air of waiting, somehow. 

Leon silently chided himself for that thought. That sounded like something Merlin would say. Or even Gwaine, in the midst of one of his tavern “stories”...

They drew their swords, cautiously went in. 

It was quiet. Silent. The flap of cloth in the wind, a goat by the door, a turning wagon wheel each processed at first as a potential threat and dismissed.

And Leon’s own heartbeat, thumping in his ears.

He did not do well in moments of suspense and anticipation like this.

CRUNCH!!

He was going to fucking kill Gwaine...Sir Eats-A-Lot had struck again. 

Even Lancelot, who had a higher tolerance for everyone and everything, more so than any other human Leon had ever met, shook his head in disapproval.

And then Elyan’s voice sounded in the night, and there were dead innocents found, frozen as if they’d been lost in a blizzard in January. How in the world could this have happened...

Leon’s heart began to pound as it always did just before battle...but always before, he’d know who or what he was about to fight. In this instance, Gwaine was right: They were literally chasing shadows.

They split up, all of them, and next he knew, Leon heard echoing screams, all around him, from all sides, and the very air seemed to shimmer and distort. Merlin was yelling, and Lancelot too, and he heard a great “whoosh” of air, like a giant raptor had swooped close to earth for a kill. 

Merlin was so often afraid, it seemed to be his natural state at times, nervous and anxious and twitchy...except of course for those times when he’d demonstrated astonishing bravery in protecting the prince. Now, though---well, Leon had never seen him look like this. As if he’d seen a ghost. It would not have even been notable, but Lancelot wore the very same expression. And he’d never seen that look once before on the strong, stout-hearted knight. 

Leon had a feeling that Arthur had similar thoughts, too, for he was calling them all away, back to Camelot. They needed to re-group and find out what they were up against. These things, these wisps of screaming air...how were they supposed to combat air?

Merlin was actually quiet the entire ride home, not even jumping at shadows any longer. He rode at the back of the line, at Lancelot’s side the entire time. He barely even managed to stretch his lips slightly when Leon sidled back at one point and tried to reassure him. “Don’t take it personally, Merlin. We’ll get these things. We always do.” Even Lancelot’s answering smile was weak.

Leon spurred his horse to ride beside Arthur on the way home. Arthur looked over his shoulder at Merlin and Lancelot many, many times. 

~~~~~~  
They arrived in the citadel to utter bedlam. 

They heard the warning bells from far outside the city, of course, and Arthur ordered them all to a gallop. The scene they found was akin to what chickens did when their heads were cut off.

People, nobles and peasants alike, were screaming, crying, running in every direction across the courtyard and back. Soldiers were trying unsuccessfully to direct them, but panic seemed to now be ruling.

Camelot had been under attack while they’d been gone. There were more dead knights, more civilians, women and children. They’d only been gone a day. How could this have happened....

Camelot’s people had figured out that light repelled these...whatever these things were. Every brazier, every torch and lamp and hearth was lit, and torches in the hands of running, frightened people bobbed everywhere. All Leon could think about was that if these creatures didn’t conquer them, all this fire in the hands of panicked people was going to burn the city down.

Merlin had been muttering all the way home that these wisps of air were not something that could be killed. He’d said it more than once, even--and Leon had had half a mind to tell Merlin to shut it, and just what in the hell made Merlin think he knew what might kill or not kill these attackers. They didn’t even know what they were! Where did Merlin come from with this, the voice of doom...

But the others, particularly Lancelot, Gwaine and Arthur, had listened and apparently believed it so.

~~~~~~~

They always moved in groups when they patrolled now, making sure everything was lit and that none of the fires would burn out of control. Leon gave the order that no knight or soldier was to move about outside the palace without a lit torch in hand.

As one, they walked the deserted streets, chainmail jangling with every step, loud in the still, cloyingly silent night air.

It took a few moments to realize that Percival wasn’t there with them anymore.

The things were coming again, Leon could hear them. 

Dammit, dammit, dammit...there were more civilians to herd. He began bellowing orders, shoving everyone inside one house with a lit hearth and a candle in every window. He saw Elyan break away, run back in the same direction where they’d last seen Percival.

Two of the women they’d just herded into the house were crying, nearly incoherent. They’d become separated from their small children...they wanted to go back out after them...

Sometimes Leon hated his job. He signalled to Lancelot and Gwaine, and started back out himself, even as he heard the screams of the creatures becoming louder.

And he saw them. Percival, torchless, carrying all three children, running hellbent for their refuge, and those...things heading straight for them.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Elyan appeared as if out of nowhere, frantically waving the torch he held and repelling the attackers long enough for all of them to get to relative safety. 

The Durocha had been robbed of their intended victims. They would not claim these small innocents, not tonight. Sometimes, it was the little victories that mattered the most.   
~~~~~~

Daylight brought some respite, and a massive influx of refugees into the city. Leon would never have believed that many people lived in the kingdom’s outer villages and lower towns. It was barely past sunset before the courtyard was full of people waiting for help. Predictably, Arthur ordered that they all be given shelter, (even as his uncle advised, quite pragmatically, against it) as best they could find, even though conditions rapidly became overcrowded and desperate.

 

Even so, Leon approved. He still felt he owed a debt to the common people who quietly lived and worked in the kingdom. Yes. Arthur would be a very good king one day. Leon did his best to help organize relief efforts even as he kept an eye on the sun and prayed impossibly that nightfall be kept at bay.

For what it was worth, the creatures holding them hostage now had a name, the Durocha. Gaius had recognized them in his research. Somehow, the veil between this world and the spirit world had been torn...whatever that meant...and to seal it, these...things needed another, a blood sacrifice, at the Isle of the Blessed.

At least, that was what Arthur explained to Leon, while Merlin stood behind them and chewed and worried at his nails. 

Leon had no idea, truthfully, what any of it meant and didn’t ask. He simply bowed to the prince and departed to tell the new knights that they would be leaving soon, and to prepare themselves for a quest.

The Durocha still could not be vanquished with arrows or spears or even fire, only repelled. And Camelot certainly couldn’t continue to live like this. These things, these Durocha, preyed on people’s most primitive fear, that of the dark. Nerves and tempers were frayed to near-breaking already with dealing with this kind of constant dread.

Nothing was ever easy anymore. In fact, Leon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to deal with anything simple.

Leon and the four other knights he’d been spending so much time with in these last few months lead their horses out and began to prepare them for the quest ahead.

All of the knights, even Gwaine, were subdued and somber. The people in the square watched the proceedings with silent, hopeful expressions.

Everyone was mounted and ready, waiting for Arthur...everyone, it seemed, but Lancelot. It wasn’t until Leon happened to glance over his shoulder and saw who was approaching that he understood why Lancelot was dawdling, so out of character for him...

Guinevere. 

Leon sighed. Not his business, not his concern...

But he was close enough to hear their conversation, and while he tried not to look, he saw Lancelot’s open, pleased expression fall with the favor she asked of him.

He’d never taken Gwen as an unkind or thoughtless person, always just the opposite, but Leon thought that this time...she’d asked too much of Lancelot. It was pretty plain to see that Lancelot still loved her, even as he very gracefully and nobly tried to hide it. Why would Gwen ask him to look after Arthur for her, when Lancelot would have done so anyway? She didn’t even speak to her own brother Elyan, and she could have asked the same favor of any one of the knights. They’d all protect the prince with their lives, she must know that. She was making a statement to Lancelot, that could be the only reason...and it was hurtful and unnecessary. It was wrong of Gwen to do this, to approach Lancelot like this before a quest, with such a pointed favor charged of Lancelot.

Were Leon the type to form opinions on these matters, he may have thought Lancelot far better suited for Gwen, and that she would be honored to have such as Lancelot. Leon had a vague, arm’s length sort of idea that the two of them, Lancelot and Gwen, had been lovers once, before the prince’s eye had turned to her of course. Of all the peasant, er, new knights, Lancelot had gained Leon’s admiration the most quickly--and he, more than anyone, might be an example for those ideals Gwaine was always bandying about, “Men should be judged on their character, not their birth” and “Nobility comes from a man’s actions, not his station”. In Leon’s purview, Lancelot had truly earned the right to be called “Sir”. 

Lancelot was quiet, and dignified, and held almost a grateful reverence concerning his knighthood, the exact opposite of Gwaine, who somehow always behaved as if this gift was something he was entitled to. Lancelot worked tirelessly, endlessly, training and helping the people of Camelot. He was considered by almost every woman to be pleasant of face and all but pure of heart, but he didn’t seem to ever indulge in the pleasures of women (not that Leon had researched that, not at all.) He was soft-spoken but not afraid to voice opinion and opposition as appropriate, and he had a diplomat’s tongue and a peacemaker’s heart--even somehow helping to convince Gwaine to tone down his obnoxiousness without getting the other man’s back up and making Gwaine think it was all his own idea. He had been the first to be accepted by the older guard also wearing the red cloak of Camelot.

When they returned from this quest, Leon was going to speak with Arthur about promoting Lancelot.

In sympathy to his knight-brother, Leon’s previously high opinion of Gwen slipped a notch or three for her “request” of him now.

Leon had no patience with these personal dramas, hated ever knowing about them. They always, always seemed to occur just before or during dire circumstances. Entanglements of the heart, especially others’ hearts, could only lead to disaster. 

Leon vowed to himself that he would think no more of this. It was a distraction none of them could afford. 

The prince, with Merlin trailing behind, arrived just afterward, and they were underway.

The refugees in the citadel tossed flowers in their path in homage and gratitude as they departed.  
~~~~~~~~

They were given one small blessing: their first day’s ride was at least quiet, without any encounters with the Durocha. They all rode hard, pushing their mounts to the limit almost until nightfall, when they had no choice but to stop, get their torches lit, and make camp. Merlin went off to gather firewood, Lancelot following after him, and Leon saw Arthur check the both of them for a moment, frowning. No doubt worrying about Merlin still, who hadn’t been his usual chatterbox self on the ride, in fact he’d been unnaturally silent almost the entire ride. And Arthur was so protective of his manservant, though the prince would never admit it. Maybe even a little jealous too of Merlin’s very tight friendship with Lancelot, if truth be told. Leon almost chuckled at that thought. 

Just another example of how Arthur would one day rule the hearts of his people. He cared about them all, peasants and nobles alike. All citizens of Camelot were important, he often said. And that was why they were on this quest, to see to the safety of the people. 

Leon wasn’t exactly sure what giving these creatures a blood sacrifice at the Isle of the Blessed was supposed to mean, or what would be expected of all of them, but he had faith in the prince to fill them all in when the time came. He had no doubt that Arthur had a plan. 

~~~~~~~ 

They weren’t as lucky on their second day. 

They broke camp at dawn’s first light, and again rode hard all day, making very good time and stopping only twice, very briefly, to rest the horses and scarf rations. 

They came upon more evidence of the Durocha’s presence--there were bodies, men, women and children, young and old, strewn about on the sides of roads and pathways as if posed. The sight was no less grotesque and macabre in the daylight. 

Leon’s gut churned with that familiar inevitable sense of anxiety and impending doom. How to fight them...

Their party barely made it before nightfall to the ruins of the keep for needed shelter. Urgently, everyone was ordered to pair up, one torch per team, to look for fuel for the night. 

The muffled screams started almost immediately, from every direction at once. Leon had always considered himself brave, and was reminded now that probably what he feared more than anything else in the world was not knowing what and how he was supposed to fight.

Leon and the others rushed to each other from all over the keep, formed an awkward circle, backs to each other, woodscraps, whatever they’d been able to scavenge, still under their arms as best they could, all of them looking about frantically. Leon gripped his torch so hard his knuckles ached. Where were they...

They were all around them. They seemed to be coming from everywhere at once as the screams no longer seemed muffled. They were deafening. 

And then they were all shouting, as men tended to do in battle, bellowing, waving their torches like banners. Even the whoosh, whoosh of the moving fire was drowned out by the sounds of these horrible beings as they tried to swoop in and claim the knights of Camelot and a servant. 

‘This is what panic feels like’, Leon thought, ‘for all of us.’

When they seemed at bay for the moment, Arthur gave the order to run back to the main area, the place they had ready for their fire, with Percival protesting that they didn’t have enough fuel. “Go now!” It was chaos. And it would appear that Leon was not the only one fearful of something that didn’t appear to be even corporeal, something they could not touch but was dreadful in its method of attack.

Despite Merlin’s nervousness and obvious fear, he got the fire going quickly--he did seem to have a knack with a flint, Leon had to say that for him. Leon had marveled before, how Merlin always seemed to be able to get a fire started, even in wet conditions. They huddled around the flames and Percival repeated again that they just didn’t have enough fuel to get them through the night. 

Leon almost snapped at the tall knight then, almost asked him just what he expected the prince to do about that, but caught himself. They were all on edge and afraid. Harsh words and criticism weren’t going to help anything or anyone. Calmly, Arthur murmured something about it being enough for now. 

They all fed the fire and waited.

~~~~~~~~

Percival had been right of course; their meager collection of wood wasn't nearly enough. When Gwaine added their last piece to the flames, that was it. Someone was going to have to get more.

Arthur immediately stood, uninterested in drawing lots. “I’ll go”.

Leon restrained himself from squawking. Arthur was the crown prince! He shouldn’t risk himself like this, not with an ill father at home and no other heirs to the throne...

None of them wanted to leave the relative security of the fire, but---Lancelot was on his feet in an instant, ready to accompany Arthur, but surprisingly, it was Merlin who claimed the duty as his own, and he sounded most determined. And for a moment, the terrible tension in the air dispelled, maybe a little, with Merlin’s almost-normal, cheeky retort: “What would you know about gathering firewood?”

Comedic relief. Okay, sometimes Leon did understand why Arthur brought him along.

Even so, Lancelot stared long and hard at his friend as he left with Arthur.

~~~~~~~

The sounds never stopped, the shrieks of a hundred thousand people in utter torment and terror. It was enough to drive a man insane. Was this going to go on all night...?

Arthur and Merlin should have been back by now. They’d been gone too long, it was true.

Had Leon no brain to actually be aware of this fact, he could always ask Lancelot. He’d been pacing for the better part of the last fifteen minutes, back and forth, muttering the same thing. They’d been gone too long. They should have been back by now.

Only one torch between them, but they left as a group to find them. Arthur had been holding the other torch. They could all help Merlin carry more wood back. 

Leon hadn’t thought it possible, but the sounds seem to grow louder again. They’d only reached the furthest doorway when Lancelot had spun and begun frantically waving the torch again, dispelling yet another of the soulless shapes. “Move!”, Leon yelled, and as one, they broke into a run.

~~~~~~  
There were more, two more in rapid succession, coming from different directions. Lancelot wielded his torch in wide arcs, and tried to look everywhere at once. No one said anything; they didn’t dare call for their comrades, for fear they’d be heard and attract more of the creatures.

Leon wondered how long the pitch would last on the torch, but said nothing.

More shrieks, very close, and then they all heard it, Arthur’s bellow: “MERLIN, NO!”

The five of them stampeded in the direction of the shout, and Lancelot burst through the heavy door into what looked like some kind of antechamber just in time to see---

Another of the Durcocha. And this one had found another victim. 

Oh, gods. Oh, no, no, no. Not Merlin. Not Merlin...

Lancelot waved the thing away quickly enough, but not before they’d all seen Arthur’s stricken, ashen face and Merlin crumpled against the far wall. 

He was dead, obviously. No one survived a Durocha attack.

“What happened?” Lancelot blurted. But he knew what had happened. They all did....

Feeling nauseous, Leon, along with Percival, Elyan and Gwaine, followed Lancelot and Arthur to Merlin’s body and watched as they carefully turned him over. He looked...just like all the others they’d seen, white-grey, with bits of frost clinging to his face...his eyes open and staring sightlessly.

Leon forced himself not to close his eyes or look away. He owed that to Merlin’s memory, to honor him with his eyes wide open and seeing. A mere servant he may have been, but...

‘I’m sorry, truly sorry Merlin...’

Oh, what this was going to do to Arthur...

Leon glanced quickly to his right, saw Gwaine swallowing compulsively beside him, staring, silent and shocked. And then--Gwaine gasped. So did Lancelot and Arthur. 

Merlin had blinked. 

Well, sometimes dead men did that, they’d move or something, so...

Merlin blinked again. Okay, well, usually corpses didn’t bat their eyelashes...

And then Merlin groaned, very very softly, almost more of a sigh...

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice was too loud, and it cracked on the second half of the name. “Can you hear me?”

“Ah”. Merlin said. Very faint, but unmistakable. “t’hur.” And he moved his head, just very slightly.

Merlin wasn’t dead. He was alive. He’d tried to say Arthur’s name...

“Quickly!’, Lancelot snapped over his shoulder, and Percival was there, picking Merlin’s crumpled form off the floor as gently as a father would pick up his small daughter.

Leon was actually quite surprised Arthur had let the big knight touch him, carry him at all. Arthur tended to be very proprietary when it came to Merlin, especially when he was injured or unwell...

They made it outside, all of them, Percival hurrying with his burden towards the fire, everyone else trying to gather as much wood as they could along the way. Apparently Arthur had dropped his torch earlier, so they had one only to cover six men. Lancelot stayed beside Percival, holding the torch high, trying to watch Merlin and look for more Durocha all at once.

Once at the fire, they stoked it as best they could, and propped Merlin against it, covering him in every blanket they had. He was as limp as a rag doll, and his color hadn’t changed, though the ice on his face seemed to have dropped away. His lips were as blue as a corpse’s, eyes unfocused.

He was alive, but his condition was alarming, not good at all. It was obvious his lifeforce was in peril. It was hideous to see him like this, the man who never seemed to stop talking or moving, whose eyes always sparkled with humor and mischief.

The real question was, how had Merlin survived the Durocha attack at all? As far as Leon knew, no one had yet reported being touched by one and living to tell the tale. 

“Sire?” he said tenatively. Arthur was standing a little apart from the other knights, fingertips to his mouth, watching Merlin, though not saying anything. 

When he didn’t respond to Leon, he tried again. “Arthur? What happened back there? Was Merlin brushed by one of those things?”

“Enveloped, is more like it”, Arthur said tonelessly. “He ran toward it, and it picked him up and held him hanging like a puppet for long seconds...and then threw him at the wall.”

Leon just stared. “He...ran toward it?”

Arthur glanced up at him then. “He was protecting me. I tried to grab him back, but---you know Merlin.” 

Leon couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he glanced back at Merlin again. He hadn’t moved, and his color hadn’t changed. All of the knights seemed to be taking turns trying to comfort Merlin, speaking to him quietly, tucking his blankets around his shoulders. Merlin didn’t respond, didn’t seem aware of his friends at all, just kept staring blankly ahead, boneless, silent and grey.

“Let’s see if we can’t get him warmed up, Sire. I’m sure he’ll be improved by morning...”

~~~~~~  
Merlin wasn’t better in the morning. He was dying. And of course, Arthur blamed himself. He was making plans to return back to Camelot, to get Merlin back to Gaius.

There were times, like now, that Leon incredulously wondered at just how young and impulsive Prince Arthur was.

He needed to show support to Arthur, and Leon did care for Merlin, he did. And even more than that, he cared for what it would do to Arthur if he were to lose this silly, brave man at this point...

Leon didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but he believed himself more aware than most, just how much Merlin had influenced and changed Arthur from the arrogant, entitled, spoiled bully he’d met when the two of them had collided in the marketplace all those years ago. Merlin had coaxed from Arthur a kinder, more caring person that had been there all along, had just needed to be let out and appreciated. Merlin had done that for him, usually while making him laugh and tripping over something. 

Arthur had confided in Leon during the night vigil that Merlin had told him “We’ll defeat the Durocha together”, just before trying to sacrifice himself to it. So of course, Arthur was riding a huge wave of guilt, on top of his concern and fear and the responsibility of ridding Camelot of these horrible entities once and for all.

“We cannot abandon the quest, Sire!” Leon felt terrible for saying it. He wasn’t heartless, he wasn’t unsympathetic, but--the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. It was his awful duty to remind Arthur of that in times like these.

Arthur wasn’t swaying, and Leon had almost been convinced that Arthur would do just that, abandon their quest, turn everyone around and head back to Camelot, an epically bad decision. Merlin was one man...a likeable one, a valued one to prince and knights, true, but--also, one peasant, a servant. It would be wrong to risk so many others for him.

Thankfully, Lancelot intervened, promised Arthur he would get Merlin to Gaius and would look after him on the trip. He would go through the Valley of the Fallen Kings to save time...

Percival carried a still-ragdoll-like Merlin to his horse, helped Arthur settle him there, and stepped back to give them privacy for a moment while Arthur spoke to Merlin. Leon finally approached to tell them they needed to leave, time was of the essence now--they were on the last leg of the journey...

The look on Arthur’s face when Lancelot and Merlin left...it was so vulnerable that Leon averted his eyes. No one should intrude upon a prince when his soul was laid bare and naked like that. It was obvious that the prince did not expect to see Merlin again.

~~~~~~~

They had to move quickly, take advantage of every bit of daylight they could...

They rode hard, only five of them now where there had been seven. They had been somber before, but now it was as if a grim pall had been cast over them all. Even Gwaine was subdued, or at least, as subdued as he was ever likely to be. Leon had seen Gwaine’s gaze linger too on Merlin when he’d left with Lancelot, and had also noticed just before, when Gwaine gently guided Merlin’s closer foot into the stirrup, touched his shoulder reassuringly, spoken quiet words to him. Merlin was probably the closest thing Gwaine had to a friend, even now. 

Merlin had a great many people asking the gods to allow him to remain in this world.

Of course, Arthur wrapped himself in royal solitude, riding at the head of the line, jaw clenched, eyes focused on nothing but the path ahead and covering as much ground as possible while they still had daylight. 

No one spoke.

Leon allowed his thoughts to wander as he rode...he worried that his mother’s estate was all right, and his aunt’s, and how the people of Camelot were faring. No doubt there had been more attacks during last night, more people, more knights and soldiers lost. And the thought came unbidden to Leon: Just how disappointed Gwen would be when Lancelot arrived back in the citadel and she realized he’d not kept his promise after all, in fact had been looking after Merlin and not Arthur. It was nasty and unworthy of him, truly, but he allowed himself a humorless smirk nontheless. Leon and the rest of the knights would see to the prince.

It was nearly midday before they stopped to rest the horses. Predictably, Arthur held himself apart. Usually, it would be Merlin who would be speaking to him, reassuring him, annoying him, but--

Leon thought that it was time to remind Arthur that he was not alone. 

He passed a grinning Gwaine--honest to god, what was his problem?--who asked Leon cheerfully, “D’ya hear that?”

Of course Leon had recognized the buzzing, had steered clear. “Bees”. 

“Food!” 

Well, apparently Gwaine had rediscovered his voice, his appetite and his insanity all at the same time. He--unbelievably--took one glove off and stuck his hand into the humming, bee-infested tree trunk.

“Are you trying to get us killed?”

“We’re riding to our deaths anyway!” Gwaine said it like he was announcing a party. He continued to rummage around in the tree trunk. 

Sighing, Leon walked to Arthur’s side, who had drawn his sword and was studying it like he expected to find a map of the ages written there. His face was bleak, carefully stoic.

“It’s good to give the horses a rest” Leon offered quietly.

Arthur just nodded, looked about, but said nothing, and the feeling of concern and unrest for his prince doubled in Leon’s chest.

Usually he would say nothing, would leave a man to his private thoughts if he showed signs of brooding but... this was different. This was Arthur.

“You’re quiet.” Leon allowed some of his concern to show in his voice. Arthur continued to not look at him, staring straight ahead, but rallied a bit, made an effort in return. “That’s what happens after three days of listening to Gwaine”, he said grumpily.

Leon chuffed a laugh. Gwaine had been exceptionally well-behaved and less endlessly talkative on this trip than most. Leon knew why Arthur was so silent and lost in his own thoughts, of course. 

“You did the right thing, you know. Merlin couldn’t have continued with us.”

“I should have saved him...”

Gwaine chose that time to grunt loudly in pain. The bees had apparently woken up and begun letting Gwaine know just what they thought of him and his buggering hand invading their house. Gwaine made a show of running away, twisting about, waving his arms, his red cape flapping. Percival and Elyan parted from the path to let him by, chuckling and swatting at the swarm of angry bees that trailed after Gwaine . 

Ridiculous.

Even Arthur cracked a bit of a smile at the sight, accompanied by an exasperated eye roll.

Had Gwaine done that on purpose, for just that? Leon imagined it had to be a rather painful comedic turn...

For Arthur, who was fully immersed in his own guilt, his own responsibility for everyone in Camelot, and one foolishly brave manservant’s in particular. 

“If anyone can get Merlin back to Camelot, Lancelot can.” He clapped Arthur’s shoulder briefly, and Arthur looked up and met his eyes for just a moment, nodded in acknowledgement.

As Leon walked away, he felt the same old familiar concern and disquiet for Arthur allowing his emotions to rule. He should be focused on this quest now. There was nothing more Arthur could do for Merlin. After all, Merlin was Arthur’s servant--it was his duty to serve and protect his prince any way he could. Arthur needed to accept that. Merlin certainly had.

In fact, Leon realized, Merlin seemed to know his place far better than Agravaine or Leon himself really gave Merlin credit for.

~~~~~~~  
They rode until heavy dusk was upon them, right up until a jutting cave-like structure blocked their path almost completely. Arthur was off his horse in one swift, impatient movement, moving forward with his usual purpose, to what appeared an underground entrance. They all followed.

What was this? Arthur had been so silent, hadn’t told them anything...

“By morning, we’ll be on the other side of this mountain.”

“You can’t be serious.”

That was Gwaine. And here Leon had hoped that the swelling from all of his bee stings had somehow shut his mouth...

“These tunnels...” Gwaine pointed ahead, “Are crawling with wyldren.”

Wait. What? Wyldren? 

“These tunnels will take days off our journey...”

“...If we make it out alive!”

“We’ll cover ourselves in gaia berries.”

What kind of berries? What the hell?

“Ha.” Gwaine scoffed. “Sounds great.”

“It’s your choice, Gwaine. Wyldren or Durocha.”

“I know which one I’d rather go for”. And now this was a talk-along, as Elyan had joined in. Wasn’t there any here among them that knew how to behave on a quest?

Unfazed, Arthur agreed with Elyan, proceeded to direct them all to small plants just inside the cave--which seemed to be blooming enthusiastically with large plump berries. Odd, considering they must never see the sun...

Leon saw Arthur dart back outside the cave entrance with the torch just as he registered the screams of the Durocha, very close. 

Gwaine had lingered just outside...Percival had gone back for him...Arthur had brought them both back.

When they arrived in Camelot, Leon was going to start drilling the importance of following orders and staying together into the thick skulls of these knights, especially Gwaine. Always, always especially Gwaine.

And the next thing he knew, Leon and the all the others were reeking from incredibly pungent, horribly smelling, bright-red berries smeared all over their faces. The stench reminded Leon of rotting meat left out in the middle of summer, crossed with the odor of the local drunks (who only bathed once every three years), and it was encouraging Leon’s rising gorge...

Arthur explained to Percival and the others the reason for the disgusting paste, and then...Gwaine tripped over a skull. Human, by the looks of it, though very small.

Oh, yes, it was shaping up to be a lovely, lovely day.

Different screams--these weren’t the Durocha. These were recognizable as animals. Arthur shushed them all, signaled Leon to get rid of his torch while stomping out his own. It worried Leon to do it--their only means of defense against the Durocha, after all--but he trusted Arthur and obeyed.

That...thing. That was just--it looked like a cross between an enormous rat, without eyes, and a giant mole. Sort of. It snuffled and screamed and stomped over to where the five of them lay hidden, warned by Arthur to be absolutely still and silent. 

And apparently it found a kindred spirit in Gwaine, as it sniffed him all over and then started licking him. 

Leon honestly felt sorry for the long-haired bane of his existence...

Leon’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, could just make out Gwaine’s barely-controlled, scrunch-faced expression. He was barely holding himself together...

And then he stabbed the thing. And it screamed. A lot.

Gwaine looked over at them and grinned proudly. 

Oh....no.

Leon went right back to despairing that Gwaine would ever grow a real brain.

“You fool”, Arthur said, very quietly.

“It’s dead!”, Gwaine shot back. He seemed rather disappointed that he wasn’t being congratulated.

“They hunt in packs.”

Yes, that’s what Leon had heard, from Arthur and other knights’ encounters.

And then they were all running like maniacs and being chased by mad, mutant, blind rat-moles and Gwaine continued to insist that it wasn’t his fault. 

~~~~~~~  
Well, at least Gwaine had finally stopped talking.

They’d kept running, for far longer than they needed to really, well past the time they were out of the caverns and the disoriented Wyldren--probably overwhelmed by the unfamiliar smells outside the cave--had given up hunting them all and retreated back into their musty burroughs. They had to have put at least a league between another near-death experience and this small stream they’d come upon. 

Other than the sounds of the five of them splashing water while washing the disgusting gaia berry paste from themselves, there was no sound for quite some time. Leon noted that once again Arthur was holding himself apart from the rest of them. 

Leon was truly beginning to worry about Arthur. The prince’s preoccupation with the fate of a mere servant was inappropriate and was a distraction. 

It wasn’t just that Merlin was a servant and his place was to protect his master at all costs. That might seem harsh to some. The real issue here was that Arthur had seemed to have forgotten that he, Arthur, was their leader and their greatest hope, and he himself had taught his knights that no man was worth their tears. 

And yes, they were all exhausted and diminished with the weight of worry and grief. Had Merlin been there, he would have disregarded all sense of propriety or personal space or even the prince’s demand to leave him be. Merlin would have talked and talked and exasperated and pestered the prince and maybe even gotten him to crack a smile, and would not have allowed Arthur to retreat into the place of brooding self-recrimination he’d currently sunk into. Arthur couldn’t be effective in his current headspace. 

More and more, too, Leon was worried about what Arthur’s plan was once they reached the Isle of the Blessed. He’d had time to mull it over, and the phrase “blood sacrifice” did not sit well with him. Leon assumed that it meant that blood must be offered, and that Arthur would be offering it, but--

He wanted to ask Arthur, but it wasn’t his place. Leon was a knight. Arthur was the prince. Leon’s duty was to follow and serve, not to question.

Leon wasn’t Merlin. 

On the other hand, he had to distract the prince somehow.

Leon glanced around at the other knights. For the most part they’d finished washing and were in various slumped poses of rest. If he just made his concern professional-sounding, maybe...

“They need to rest, Sire. Even Gwaine’s gone quiet...” Leon glanced over at the long haired-knight, sitting slack-shouldered on a fallen branch over the stream. He wasn’t even eating. When had Gwaine’s stillness become their measuring stick for low morale? 

Arthur was having none of it. He made a couple of final swipes at the droplets of water still on his face and quirked his mouth. “Sounds like a good reason to keep going”. 

Wordlessly, everyone stood when Arthur did, swords in hand, and trudged behind him.

Leon sighed and followed. Well, that attempt at being Merlin-like had certainly failed...

~~~~~~~

Leon took first watch along with Arthur in the clearing they’d finally settled in at dusk, both of them facing away from the other. Percival and Gwaine had both managed to snag a couple of rabbits just before the sun had descended fully, so at least they’d have fresh meat in their bellies tonight. The three men preparing their food were watchful and alert as Arthur and Leon patrolled the outer perimeters of their campsite, torches in hand. They’d switch off quickly with the others when it was their turn to eat...

He tried not to keep checking on Arthur, but--

Leon saw Elyan go out to Arthur and begin talking with him quietly. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he saw Arthur’s closed expression and saw him nod a couple of times. 

And then Gwaine and Percival distracted Leon by tossing a sword over the fire. How many times had Leon told them not to be so cavalier with their blades...swords were not playthings!

At least Arthur was returning to the fire and would hopefully eat something.

The screams of the Durocha started up again. Everyone was instantly on their feet. Full darkness was not even upon them yet...

Another night of screams and building their bonfire and clutching their torches. They hadn’t seen the Durocha yet, but that meant nothing. They were all around them. 

Leon wasn’t that hungry anymore.  
~~~~~~~~  
It was rare for Leon to feel this exhausted. He’d become rather talented at conserving energy when he needed to, but staying awake all night, and then moving again on foot as soon as the sun came up, took its toll on any man. But there was nothing for it. They were all exhausted beyond the telling of it.

Arthur took point on the trail, their destination today the ruined keep that would be, if they were lucky, their last night fending off the Durocha. The keep might offer a bit more shelter than being out in the open forest might. 

For a time, Elayn walked with Leon, and he asked Elyan very quietly what he’d said to the prince the night before. Somehow Leon knew they hadn’t been discussing the weather.

“I asked him if he knew what we’ll be facing once we reach the Isle of the Blessed. He said he did, but it was his burden to bear and his alone. I reminded him that the very last thing he is, is alone. We stand together.”

Leon looked at him for a long moment, and then just nodded. It was good to know that these new knights truly did understand that concept, had demonstrated nothing but unflinching loyalty to their prince. “Carry on, then.” 

And--Leon wasn’t the only one worried about Arthur, wasn’t the only one who’d noticed how closed-off and holding himself apart Arthur had become. They all shared the burden--if only Arthur would allow it.

~~~~~~~  
They were all in the same clothes they’d left Camelot in...did they all smell as bad as Gwaine’s feet? Somehow Leon doubted it. That stink reached new levels of putrid. What had he done, poured reeking gais berry juice down his boots? Ugh...

“Hey, why am I always the butt, huh...”

‘Maybe because you act like one and smell like one too’, Leon thought, smirking silently. Others added their own opinions, not so silently. They all moved to the other log, downwind from Gwaine. 

Leon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Gwaine trying to put out his lit sock. Stupid Gwaine...he had to be doing this on purpose. He silently blessed the man for his buffoonery, for half a moment’s respite from the glumness of their group.

“Quiet!”, Arthur ordered sharply.

Leon had heard it too. A heavy door opening and closing. It wasn’t Durocha, anyway--they had no need of doors. Bandits, probably...

Instantly, all of them were on their feet--in Gwaine’s case, his bare feet--swords at the ready. Whoever it was, they’d face them head-on.

Lancelot. 

Oh. Oh, no. That could only mean one thing.

“Lancelot? How’s Merlin?!” Arthur demanded.

Lancelot looked apologetic, saddened. Leon didn’t have to ask, none of them did. He was here, without Merlin. Leon hoped he’d given him a proper burial in some peaceful place. It would be a shame not to be able to bring the body to Gaius, allow the old man a body to grieve over, but...

“Bad news...”

Arthur absolutely deflated. He’d been hopeful, he truly had, for a moment.

“He’s still alive.” Lancelot shrugged melodramatically, smiled. 

WHAT??

And there Merlin was, that ungainly, bouncing, graceless gait of his seeming more pronounced than ever . Merlin paused just level with Lancelot and grinned goofily at Arthur.

How...?

Arthur’s breath left him in something suspiciously like a laughed sob.

Funny thing, what they did then--Arthur and Merlin ignored each other, welcoming and congratulating everyone else but each other. And everyone was crowding around, yelling and laughing and slapping backs, shaking hands. Gwaine embraced his friend and wandered off to find his burnt socks. The rest of them, by some instinct, moved away from the prince and his manservant slightly.

But Leon watched over his shoulder, almost holding his breath. Saw them doing it again, another silent gaze that held hours of conversation. It only lasted seconds. 

“Good to see you again, Merlin.”

Seriously? Was Arthur joking?

“Yeah. Good to see you, too.”

Honestly.

And then Arthur just grabbed Merlin by his nape, and dragged him along back to their fire.

Leon felt more embarrassed than all the times he’d come upon Arthur and Gwen kissing in front of the sunlit windows in the palace.

~~~~~~  
Leon found himself feeling slightly more refreshed and less exhausted, now that Lancelot and Merlin were back. He volunteered for first watch with Lancelot and finally got some explanations.

Villia. Spirits of the brooks and streams.

Who would have thought Merlin would be somehow seen as important enough for spirits of the water to take the time and effort to heal? Would wonders never cease. Lancelot just shrugged and said he didn’t know either, but wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He looked a tad uncomfortable when he said it though. Leon wondered if there might be more to the story after all.

It was a quiet night, quieter than usual. No signs of the Durocha yet, but they didn’t keep to a schedule. Leon stayed alert, as did Lancelot. How the other man managed to be so seemingly tireless after riding all the hours he had...yeah. Leon definitely had plans for this noble knight when they returned to Camelot. Plans for more of a leadership role. 

Leon saw Arthur and Merlin talking quietly at the fire, leaning against opposite sides of the log, while the other knights slept. They were very serious, not laughing or smiling, but Merlin had managed to coax Arthur to eat something, and at some point, Leon noticed Arthur handing some object to Merlin, something small and flat. Leon couldn’t see what it was, or hear what they were saying, but he did see the look of reverence and wonder that crossed Merlin’s face when he took whatever it was. It looked like he tried to give it back to Arthur and was impatiently rebuffed.

Arthur still looked exhausted (they all were) and had an air of resolve and courage about him, but he certainly looked better than he had these last two nights. At least he was talking and eating. 

Leon turned away, determined not to intrude upon them and their intimacy any further.

~~~~~~~  
The Isle of the Blessed.

Spooky. From the time the seven of them had come within sight of it, they’d all had the same apprehensive reaction to it. It was as if invisible, intimidating tendrils were reaching out to them from the Isle itself, trying to keep them at bay. 

They found the boatman and paid their fare, crossing the waters in what appeared to be a deceptively rickety boat.

For all their tension, Leon felt relieved. They were here now, finally, after such a long and arduous journey. They would battle with whatever they needed to, and rid the world of these creatures or die trying, together. He was familiar with such a plan. 

SCREECH!!!

“What is that?!”

“I really hope I’m wrong...”

The skies above them were black with Wyvern, more flying beasts that Gwaine seemed to be familiar with. So did Merlin, and Leon didn’t even bother to ask how that might be. It was times like this when Leon was reminded again that Merlin was something of a liability--he couldn’t fight, and the others, even himself, tended to try to protect him. It was hard enough watching one’s own back against what appeared to be a cross between a giant bat and a dragon; a clumsy servant, no matter how fond of him the prince might be, shouldn’t be here.

Once again, they were fanning out, swords ready, looking to the sky to ward off their screaming attackers, but these weren’t Durocha. At least these ghastly things could be injured, could die. 

WHOOSH!

They were fast for things so large! They flew so close that Leon actually felt the gusts of air from their leathery wings. He was certain his blade connected at least once, judging by their outraged cries. At least they weren’t fire breathing...that he knew of.

Amidst Arthur’s yells of commands to them all and Gwaine’s general bellowing, Percival took a hit and went down.   
He was a bigger target than most, hard to miss.

They all crouched low, readying for another attack. Merlin, the fool, stood up suddenly, muttering something, his back to them all. What was he thinking...probably afraid out of his mind.

The Wyvern hovered for a moment, gave one more outraged, angry cry, and flew away. It was almost like magic.

Really, what on earth had distracted them enough to give up on attacking the prince and the Knights of Camelot? Leon would have really liked to know what had just happened. They all stood rooted for a moment, staring up, expecting more.

“See!” Gwaine shouted, triumphant. “That’s how you deal with them!”

Even Merlin was wearing his “If you say so” look again. Those things hadn’t up and gone because of anything any of them had done. Leon wasn’t stupid.

But there was no time to figure it out now. “We need to keep moving!” Arthur called, and they were all running again.

~~~~~~

They were just inside the ruins when the creatures returned, and more of them. 

“Sire, you must go on, we’ll fend them off!” Whatever it was Arthur intended to do, this was the place and time, Leon knew. He would trust Lancelot to keep Arthur safe while Leon and the others kept the Wyvern at bay.  
Arthur was the prince of Camelot. It was his right and duty to carry through whatever it was he’d come here planning to do. Leon’s duty was to honor and serve him.

They broke, with Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine and Merlin hurrying ahead, while Leon, Elyan and the bleeding Percival stayed to face the bats from hell. 

~~~~~~

A world can change in such a short amount of time. A man can return unexpectedly from sure death, and another can be lost to save his prince and his kingdom.

It didn’t take long, this change. One moment, Leon and the other knights were fighting the Wyvern, and the next, Leon felt as if his insides were being sucked from the soles of his feet upward. His ears popped, and the Wyverns fled without so much as another peep.

They ran to the inner chamber, expecting the worst. And found...something even worse than that.

Merlin was sitting on the floor next to a prone Arthur, who appeared to be just waking up. Gwaine lay sprawled just a few yards away, also just beginning to stir. Merlin was weeping, sobbing silently, his chest heaving in agony, tears running unashamedly down his chiseled face. 

Leon looked around the chamber. Save for the three men, it was empty. And Leon knew, again, even without asking. He sagged, his sword suddenly too heavy for his hand, and he had to use it to hold himself upright.

“Where’s Lancelot?!” Percival all but shouted. He knew, too. He’d been closest to Lancelot, before Merlin, had come with him to Camelot to help Arthur against Morgana’s take over, what seemed ages ago. “Merlin! Where’s Lancelot?”

Gone. The blood sacrifice. 

Lancelot had kept his vow to Gwen.

Merlin could only wave vaguely at the farthest wall and weep.


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed to Leon that Merlin cried all the way home. And Arthur didn’t mock him for it, not once.

He wasn’t sure, though. Those sounds might have been Percival at one time or another. He thought maybe Elyan was crying at one point too. Leon knew he was too, and he didn’t care who might want to mock him. He didn’t know about Arthur, didn’t check. Leon might have told him he was wrong, that some men were worth tears after all. But that would be inappropriate and unbefitting for a knight to say to his prince...

Leon just wanted to go home.

~~~~~~

Gwen was there waiting for Arthur when they finally arrived in the courtyard. She ran to him before Arthur was even dismounted, was already telling him how brave he was, that the Durocha were gone, he was brilliant, he was valiant, he was magnificent, he was gallant, he’d succeeded as she’d known he would, he’d saved them all and now because of him Camelot was rid of the Durocha. He would be the king she knew he was meant to be...

Silently, everyone trudged wearily past her and up the stairs of the palace. Even Merlin was excused to Gaius’ comfort.

Leon wondered when she’d notice that there were only six of them returned. And then he decided he wouldn’t think anything more for awhile.

~~~~~~~  
They held the memorial two days hence in the courtyard, all of the knights, the prince, Merlin, and Gwen, the only woman.

“The bravest and most noble knight of all”, Arthur said. 

Everyone remained dignified and restrained, as was called for. Even Merlin, whose emotions were always so close to the surface, remained stoic.

Gwen wept as if her heart was torn apart, but Leon knew those tears were not for the man who had loved her so generously and so humbly. They were tears of guilt. He’d carried through on a promise to her. Because of her callous expectations, the future king remained in this world, and Lancelot was lost.

Leon supposed that was how it should be. It was an honorable thing, to give up one’s life for his kingdom and his liege. Had he known the true circumstances, had he pushed Arthur for his true intentions on the Isle of the Blessed, it may have been Leon being honored in the symbolic pyre now. But Leon knew Lancelot had not sacrificed himself for Arthur or for Camelot. Not really.

Leon saw Guinevere's tears and her disproportionate grief, and felt nothing for her but pity. 

~~~~~~

Leon had little time to wonder or worry further about Gwen’s abuse of Lancelot’s feelings for her. He did his best not to obsess over his own grief at the loss, throwing himself back into training and assisting the prince any way he could.

He wasn’t the only one struggling with Lancelot’s death, he knew. Percival particularly wasn’t accomplished at maintaining a stiff upper lip. And Merlin was so gutted that Leon noticed that Arthur was being particularly patient and lenient with him. He didn’t think Arthur had thrown anything at Merlin or called him idiot in quite some time now.

Even the older knights seemed to come together in solidarity over their fallen comrade, and the usual outbreaks of quarrels between the two knight factions diminished considerably. The tragic ending to the Durocha incident had inspired a coming together of all the knights.

Two days after Sir Lancelot’s memorial, Lord Agravaine called Leon to a private meeting concerning the knights of Camelot. 

Actually, it wasn’t much of a meeting. It was really more of a dressing down. A tongue lashing. An informal but very clear reprimand--something Leon had never experienced in his entire life as a knight.

“Really, Sir Leon! What kind of picture do you think this presents, Camelot’s knights moping about? While I can’t say I’m surprised by unprofessional behavior from these common-borns, I expected you, both as a noble and as a leader, to set an example. That knight did make the ultimate sacrifice, to be sure, but he was doing his duty to the prince, the king and to Camelot, just as he was sworn to do. No man is worth your tears! I am certain you have been taught this, you know this...”

Apparently, ‘No man is worth your tears’ was a concept passed down to Arthur from both sides of his family. Leon refrained from pointing out that “that knight” had had a name, and it had been Lancelot. Instead, he stood stiffly, did not argue at all, as he had no right to. “No excuse, my Lord.” 

Agravaine had been very conspicuous in his absence from Lancelot’s memorial--the only knight who had not attended. His silent, fuming disapproval of the breaking of tradition by allowing knights not born of noble blood, and of Arthur’s uncle’s obvious disdain and disfavor of servants who behaved above themselves, had not gone unnoticed by Leon--or by the other knights. And Leon had heard things from several quarters upon his return to the kingdom, of what had gone on in Camelot while the prince had been on his quest to rid them of the Durocha: how Agravaine had ordered the gates to the city closed at dusk, trapping the people outside and leaving them undefended and helpless. Agravaine had explained it all reasonably, of course, that he’d merely been preserving resources, but then--he and other men from the council had then sat around talking while Gaius had run about trying to calm and treat citizens...and Gwen had appealed eloquently and passionately to that same sitting council to have the gates re-opened. Agravaine had been embarrassed into complying...

And now he was trying to embarrass and shame Leon for grieving the passing of a brother-in-arms.

Leon agreed to speak to the others and have them “snap out of this ridiculous strop”, as Agravaine so quaintly phrased it. 

Agravaine’s final words to Leon had been that he greatly respected Leon and knew he would put this unpleasant business behind them right away. “I think we can both agree that we need not burden the prince with this matter. This meeting will not be spoken of beyond these rooms.” He said the words as if he was giving Leon a valuable gift.

Leon bowed and left the lord’s chambers feeling more angry, manipulated and humiliated than he’d ever been.

He said nothing to the knights under his command regarding the meeting. He knew and trusted his men enough to know they’d gain their equilibrium back in their own time.

~~~~~~  
Leon received a letter from his mother the next day (and marveled at how quickly post was able to be delivered in these times.)

It seemed that his mother and aunt had managed to arrange a match for cousin Henrik with the middle daughter of an earl. She was able to bring a respectable dowry to the marriage. The girl’s name was Esa, and Leon had a vague recollection of meeting her once or twice, at this or that gathering. She was plump, but Leon hoped that wouldn’t be off-putting for Henrik. Leon himself appreciated a woman with curves--their softness was what set them apart from men, after all. And he thought she had a sweet smile. 

Of course, he could be confusing her with someone else...

Anyway, they would learn to like and respect each other well enough. If he wasn’t pleased with the physical attributes of his Lady, Henrik always had the option of taking mistresses, after all---nothing in the marriage vows demanded his monogamy, as the vows did for a woman. That was just the way things were.

Leon’s mother and aunt were only awaiting such time that Henrik could be granted leave home from Gedref to begin arranging the wedding itself.

The letter was a pleasing one, although Leon’s mother did of course see fit to remind him, once again, that Leon himself was getting a bit long in the tooth to still be unmarried and that she would like to hold a grandchild in her arms while she was still young and still had strength enough to. Vexing though it may be, she was right. Leon knew how very unusual it was for a nobleman as old as himself to still be without heirs, to have not taken a wife yet. The only other unmarried knights were the new ones, and that was only because...they hadn’t been noble-born. 

But everything in Camelot always seemed to be in such a state of flux, with one crisis barely contained before another began. Leon felt almost as if he’d be disloyal to the monarchy if he took such time for personal matters. 

And then King Uther was slain, and a new age was ushered into Camelot with Arthur’s ascension, and Leon forgot all about his mother’s letter or getting married or anything else personal for a long, long time .

~~~~~~

Leon never knew who had arranged for the traveling circus for the prince’s natal day celebration. Leon himself was underwhelmed by their arrival in the palace courtyard--too much unnecessary noise and commotion and littering of flower petals everywhere. He didn’t like the creepy white face paint they wore either--it gave the impression that they were trying to conceal something. Surely minstrels or a skilled bard or two might have been more appropriate as entertainment for such an important occasion.

Later, Leon overheard yet another conversation in the palace corridors--truly, people needed to remember just how many people populated the castle before they conversed. Arthur and Gaius were discussing the king’s condition. Arthur sounded tickled pink--apparently the king had responded to him well that morning, had insisted on being present for the celebrations later that evening, had shown more alertness than he had in a very long time. But Gaius had all but thrown a wet blanket on the prince’s elation, warning Arthur that he had seen this type of thing before--it would most likely be temporary, he told Arthur, and he should not get his hopes up too high.

Typically, Arthur had denied it all, almost running down the hallway in his childlike excitement and calling after Gaius that he knew this was going to be a turning point for his father. 

Gaius had turned and seen Leon there, knew he had witnessed the exchange. 

For once, Leon beat Gaius and raised his own eyebrow in dubious hope first.

~~~~~~

Ah, Merlin. The poor lad really did need to get out more. He was reacting to everything these rather mediocre, hokey performers did as if everything was the most astonishing, incredible thing he’d ever seen, and Leon didn’t know, but maybe they were, for him. Merlin was beaming like a puppy...surely his face must hurt. Not surprisingly, Arthur didn’t seem all that impressed. In fact, the prince’s reaction to the entertainment pretty well matched Leon’s and the other knights’ own polite, wry bemusement. 

On the other hand, Leon couldn’t think of a time when Arthur had ever seemed happier. Merlin could have probably balanced a plate on his nose for the evening’s entertainment and Arthur would have been thrilled to pieces. The prince sat beside his father at the head table, leaning in towards him and often looking at him with seemingly desperate, clinging joy. And Leon had to admit, Uther seemed very much like his old self.

It was a small, low-key celebration, nothing like past birthday celebrations (such as Morgana’s last in Camelot a few years ago, which Leon had also attended), probably in deference to the king’s condition. Leon saw that Gwen was also in attendance, although she wasn’t serving tonight. She was obviously trying to go unnoticed, staying out of the king’s line of sight, not interacting with Arthur at all. Leon hadn’t forgotten that the king had forbidden Arthur and Gwen to see each other again. He doubted the king had forgotten, either.

One of the main performers--or at least, he appeared to have appointed himself the main performer, and had introduced himself earlier but Leon had forgotten his name already--called for a volunteer from the audience, and the next thing they all knew, Arthur was tied to a spinning wheel with an apple in his mouth like a roasted pig...not particularly dignified, that, although Uther seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. Agravaine was smirking slightly, Percival was pursing his lips in a very strange way, and both Merlin and Gwen looked a mite concerned. Merlin in particular seemed to be keeping a close a close and intense eye on the turn of events.

Really, Arthur was a knight and prince and a warrior--he dodged his share of sharp flying objects intending him real harm on a too-regular basis. There really was no need to pretend to be a target for a demonstration of knife throwing by this middle aged man who’d probably never even seen actual battle.

It all turned out fine, really, the knives missed Arthur well enough, and Arthur did a bit of showing off for his laughing, appreciative audience, even bowing dramatically and taking a big, crunching bite of the apple, playing to the knight’s table. As if he’d been the one to demonstrate his skill while tied to a spinning wheel. 

Oh, well, the prince had always been a bit of a trumpeter. And it was his birthday. At least the king seemed to have enjoyed it all.

 

~~~~~~  
Leon had just blown out his lamp and laid down when the warning bells sounded. 

No graver news could ever be: The king had been seriously wounded in an assassination attempt upon the prince by one of the night’s performers, but not before dispatching the assailant. 

Arthur was physically unhurt but very shaken.

Leon found himself paired with Agravaine as they tried to track down the attempted-assassin's motives. Leon found he had no qualms using intimidation to extract information from the few stragglers from the traveling show. They apparently had felt no need to hide their trail. They wanted Camelot to know the reason for their vengeance.

Leon stood behind Agravaine as he reported, “We traced the assassin to the town of Wendham--that’s in Odin’s land. It seems he hired him to kill you to avenge the death of his son.”

Had Agravaine really needed to tell him that? Leon saw Arthur close his eyes briefly. It was an old story...

Agravaine took a step nearer to Arthur. “The whole town’s thoughts are with you, Arthur, but, uh--If there’s anything I can do--”

Why did Leon have the same feeling of insincerity from Agravaine? His own thoughts were unworthy of him, and yet--Agravaine seemed too smarmy.

Arthur obviously didn’t have the same feeling. “Your support means a great deal to me. Thank you.” Arthur spoke woodenly.

Arthur’s agonized eyes met Leon’s for the briefest moment, and Leon tried as hard as he could to convey his own sympathy and support before bowing and following Agravaine out. They passed Merlin on the way, and while Agravaine ignored him, Leon knew that Merlin would be just who Arthur would need right now. Leon nodded to him as they passed, and Merlin pressed his lips together in return commiseration. 

~~~~~~

Leon saw the townspeople holding candlelight vigil for their king and wondered at that. He knew, intellectually, that the people were afraid--that Uther was the king they knew, for better or worse, and they were frightened of what may come.

Uther had not been a bad king. In fact, Camelot had been peaceful and prosperous during his reign...for all those who were loyal and not magic users. He was impatient and never suffered fools gladly and had a terrible temper and believed in swift and stern punishment for all those who broke the law--his law--but he also believed in responding quickly whenever any citizen of the land petitioned him for protection from the likes of barbarians and bandits. 

Oh, Leon wasn’t stupid or naive. He knew better than to ascribe altruistic motivations to Uther’s responses to the peasants in his land. He wasn’t protective of them due to benevolence towards them. He was protective of his own reputation and that of Camelot’s. Any unlawfulness that went unaddressed would be seen by outsiders as a sign of weakness, and would also lose the loyalty of his subjects. For the most part, Uther did have a keen understanding of the symbiotic relationship between subjects and rulers. They were both necessary in their own ways for the other to live. He did not care about individuals per se, but Uther did see the bigger picture.

He had also loved his children, both of them--though Leon had often thought privately that he’d often been too cold and demanding and harsh with Arthur and too blind and tolerant with Morgana. And he’d lied to both of them. 

Uther was a complex, flawed man-- human. And he wasn’t dead yet, although word was he wasn’t expected to live long. 

Leon was only aware in the following hours that there was a lot going on. He didn’t know what, only that a lot of traveling was being done. He knew Agravaine left the city at dusk on the day following the attack, riding his horse at a gallop as he always seemed to. Agravaine had a habit of riding late at night, which seemed very peculiar. Leon also knew Arthur and Merlin had left for somewhere and returned to the citadel just before the noon bell. That seemed stranger still to Leon, that Arthur would go on some errand while his father lay so close to death.

~~~~~~

The bells rang for an hour, and everyone knew what that meant: The king was dead.

Leon didn’t see Arthur at all that day. There were so many preparations to make. He had to trust that Merlin would be with Arthur, and Gaius, and his uncle, and Gwen.

Leon did see Merlin just outside the Throne Room at one time during the night, looking so white and wrecked, and Leon suspected he’d been crying. Leon knew that Arthur was with his father’s body in state, as was traditional, and Merlin’s usual empathy for his prince was probably off the scale by now. 

For a moment Leon wondered at not seeing Gwen anywhere in the vicinity, but--somehow, that made sense. Arthur might accept Merlin’s comfort and fussing--he had been for years, after all. It would not be so easy to allow a woman to see what might be considered weakness.

Maybe it was Leon's imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Agravaine leave again during the night.

But the next morning dawned bright and sunny and hopeful. The coronets heralded change and renewal. Leon bowed as Arthur, ramrod straight, pale, stoic, so young looking, made his way down the center aisle and knelt before Geoffrey of Monmouth. Across the aisle, Leon saw Gaius, Gwen and Merlin too. Gwen’s eyes shone with proud, affectionate tears. Gaius was calm and accepting.. And Merlin...Merlin looked like he was about to pass out. His expression was intense, expectant.

(And that the three of them were there, across from where Leon and the knights stood, was also a herald of Arthur’s new reign--peasants and servants in the third row of a coronation, rather than at the back of the hall, as was traditional.) 

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of Camelot, according to their respected laws and customs?”

“I solemnly swear so to do.”

“Will you, to your power, cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will.”

“Then by the sacred law vested in me, I crown you Arthur, King of Camelot.” Geoffrey carefully placed the golden crown on Arthur’s head.

It was done. The ancient, powerful words spoken and heard. Arthur stood and turned to face his people.

Leon joined the cries in full throat: “LONG LIVE THE KING!”

He happened to glance over at Merlin, expecting to see him all but jumping up and down in ecstasy. 

Instead, Merlin seemed to nearly vibrate. His face was usually an open book but Leon would have been hard pressed to identify the expression on his face now. It was as if he was torn between agony and joy. Leon didn’t think he’d ever forget that look.

Merlin didn’t add his own voice until the very last cry of ‘Long Live the King’.

~~~~~~

As was the custom, Camelot entered into a month of mourning for Good King Uther--kings were always ‘good’ after they’d been put into their grave, weren’t they, Leon thought. There were no feasts or celebrations, and Camelot received no visitors from any outside realms. No diplomatic missions were embarked upon, no treaties signed. Only the most essential matters of court were addressed, and absolutely anything that could wait, did wait. The people went about their daily chores with muted voices, averted faces, wearing dark clothes. 

The kingdom pretty much shut down.

Arthur was present during court proceedings, but otherwise, Leon didn’t see him. Leon wanted to ask after him, express his sympathies, see if there was anything himself or the knights could do--perhaps a distraction, a ride to one of the lakes? A quiet drink, to toast the late king? But in the end, Leon said nothing--Arthur was the king now, and knights could not treat them like friends or fellow soldiers or brothers in arms as they once may have. Besides, he knew that Merlin would see to Arthur’s every need. And Gwen was looking even more besotted and adoring than ever...somehow always near him. And Gaius would keep an eye on Arthur too. And of course, Agravaine, who seemed born to the role of Arthur’s closest advisor. 

So instead, Leon bowed formally and nodded respectfully to King Arthur, and presented his patrolling reports and training reports, and departed at Arthur’s quiet, “Thank you Sir Leon” without a personal word spoken between them, for a month.

Leon wasn’t sure what he could have said that might have made a difference anyway.

Arthur wasn’t in official seclusion, of course, but he wasn’t particularly visible either. On occasion Leon saw Merlin about the castle, hauling water for the royal bath or fetching up the king’s dinner and then returning the almost-untouched plates later to the kitchens. 

“How is he, Merlin?” 

Predictably, Merlin jumped and almost dropped the platter he was carrying. He’d always been a rather jumpy little thing.

“What?!” 

“The king. How is he getting along?” Leon couldn’t help but smile at Merlin gently. He was actually growing quite fond of him and his quirky, cheeky ways, after all this time. Merlin’s focus would, without fail, always be Arthur.

“Oh. Um. About as well as can be expected. His heart is broken, but--you know how strong he is. And he’s been training for this his whole life.”

Indeed he had. Leon just nodded, impressed with the candor and insight of Merlin’s response. That about summed it all up, didn’t it. 

“Yes, and he must know he isn’t alone. I’m sure Agravaine will prove invaluable in the coming months.” It was becoming more and more clear that Agravaine’s presence really was fortuitous. Arthur was leaning on him heavily to settle into his role as sovereign, and Leon knew that it was time to put aside his own misgivings about the man. After all, Arthur and Agravaine were family, the only family Arthur had left now.

He saw a shuttered look drop across Merlin’s expressive face. “ He certainly isn’t alone.”

Well, that was enough gossiping for one day. He walked beside Merlin through the corridors.

“How about you, Merlin? Are you eating?”

“Hmm?”

Sometimes talking to Merlin was like talking to a stone wall, but Leon also imagined Merlin must have a lot on his mind. It had been a rough few months. 

Leon pantomimed putting something in his mouth and chewing. “Food, Merlin? Have you been putting some in your mouth, chewing and swallowing? Or did you put yourself in the wash and shrink again?” He seemed paler than usual these days, his bones even more prominent than the norm. 

It took Merlin a few moments to get the joke--not the brightest star in the sky, Arthur was right about that-- but his eyes crinkled a bit in appreciation. “Oh, you know. Gwaine eats enough for you and I and himself. Well, good night, Sir Leon.” And he was down the steps and trotting towards the physician’s quarters before Leon could say anything more.

Leon did hope Merlin was all right. The king would need him more than ever in the coming months.  
~~~~~~  
At the end of the month of mourning, Arthur was back on the training field with his knights at dawn, Merlin at his heels, back into routine. 

The only difference was that before everyone began, they all bowed to the king as one and addressed him as “Majesty.” Arthur inclined his head, accepting both honor and honorific, and then nodded to Leon. “Divide them into their usual sets, Sir Leon, and let us begin.”

Perhaps this was just what Arthur needed. What they all needed.

In the afternoon, Arthur, accompanied by Leon and Percival, and of course Merlin, made a quick tour of the lower towns and the marketplace--nothing official, just to be seen. The people needed to be assured that their kingdom was in the hands of the Pendragon heir, and all was well. 

It was a small but brilliant gesture, and Leon assumed that Agravaine had suggested it. 

He found out later that Merlin and Gwen had.

~~~~~~  
Routines never lasted long in Camelot.

One moment they were all settling back into quotidian, and the next--they were being told to prepare for a quest. A quest to rid themselves of a dragon’s egg. 

Of course, some things and some people never changed, no matter that everything and everyone around them might. Merlin was late, per usual, and they had to wait for him in the courtyard. Leon wondered for the thousandth time just why Arthur insisted on bringing him along, always; he really wasn’t needed and he failed to remember that he was no longer a prince’s manservant, but the king’s. Leon despaired that he ever would. 

Arthur was rather grouchy anyway, having to wait for his own servant. That was probably the reason. But Leon had heard of an incident the day before in the council room where Arthur’s trousers had...malfunctioned. They’d somehow fallen, and Merlin had tried to help, but Leon was sure the talk was exaggerated about what happened next. The king would never have been wrestling on the floor like that.

Leon had decided at that point that he did not want any further details. Some things were far better not known.

Arthur’s impatient, grumpy “Hurry up, Merlin!” had Merlin scrambling for his mare and hurrying after the five of them finally, their horses’ hooves loud on the courtyard cobblestones.

~~~~~~  
And now the king’s manservant was apparently going to sulk the entire quest.

Leon knew they had some ground to cover, and that with the exception of himself, the king, and Merlin, no one in their party had ever seen a dragon.Quite frankly, he was more than glad to be absolutely certain that no others had survived after Arthur had dispatched what they thought was the last, years ago. Leon described it to the knights, the abominable, hideous creature that breathed fire and indiscriminately stole the lives of Camelot’s citizens. He also told them how he’d found the place the last of its kind had been imprisoned in, beneath the castle, and the inexplicably broken chain that should not have been broken. 

Leon tried to involve Merlin in the tale, encouraged him to tell the others what he’d seen during the final attack on Camelot and how they’d defeated it against all odds. Merlin’s response was “I don’t really remember”. Further inquiries and invites only yielded stubborn, closed, one or two syllable answers until Arthur, silent to this point, rolled his eyes at Leon and told him, “Ah, leave him be. You know how Merlin’s afraid of his own shadow...you’re going to give him nightmares.”

Gwaine spoke up from behind them then: “Not to worry Merlin. We’ll find this egg, and make the biggest omelette the world has ever known!” 

Everyone guffawed at that, everyone but Merlin, who spurred his horse to ride on a bit ahead. Gwaine looked rather disappointed, but Leon shook his head. The manservant had more moods than a pregnant noblewoman.

~~~~~~

Merlin had found a new mood--he’d gone from sullen and pouting to focused and driven.

Actually, despite the unexpectedness of it, Leon thought it was a good mood for him. 

They’d all toned down their joking as they rode deeper into unknown territory and had picked up the trail of the one they believed to have stolen the triskelion from Camelot’s vaults. Arthur made it look effortless-”Same hoof tracks--we must must be closing on him.”

Merlin surprised them all by spotting the smoke from a campfire. “Look”, he pointed. “He made camp.” 

Merlin was right--they found the doused campfire, and Arthur ordered them onward, Merlin fidgeting in his saddle, twitchy and nervous. Leon wondered what had him so motivated, but then they lost the trail just as dusk was closing in and Arthur ordered everyone to hole up and set up camp. There was not much they could do without daylight.

Leon decided he’d had just about enough of stroppy-Merlin and prickly-Merlin for one day. He began plotting to remind the manservant just what his job really was, and it wasn’t to whine over things they could do nothing about. He just hoped the king would play along. 

They could all use another good laugh.

 

~~~~~~

Percival, beside Leon, almost gave the whole thing away with all the grinning he was doing. 

Leon had let everyone in on the prank he had in mind when Merlin was gathering herbs for the stew--everyone but Arthur, who was still scouting the perimeter. 

The stew really did smell wonderfully, but Merlin never seemed to make enough. Didn’t he realize that knights were big and physical, and not skinny beanpoles with legs like himself? Merlin could probably fill himself up with a few handfuls of berries. The bushes around their campsite were heavy with those.

“Whoa! I’m famished!” Leon put just enough irritation in his voice to sound convincing. Merlin topped up his bowl for him, and Leon added a sarcastic “Thank you!” for good measure.

When Gwaine was served, he got in on it too, grabbing Merlin’s belt to pull him back for another spoonful or two. “I’m hungry as a horse!” Merlin complied with a wry twist to his mouth. Ooh...he was starting to get worried...

Leon watched Merlin carefully even as he spooned the tasty concoction into his mouth. Timing was everything, now...

Merlin squatted down near the fire to eat his own meal. He was raising the spoon to his mouth..

“That’s a point, Merlin. Have you fed them?” Arthur!

“What?” Merlin, articulate as always.

“The horses.”

“Well--”

“Come on, they must be starving.”

Merlin glanced at his bowl longingly. “But--”

“On your toes.”

Forlorn, desolate, victimized, Merlin reluctantly moved off in the direction of the horses, leaving his bowl of stew untouched. He could not have played into the joke any better if Leon had told him to.

And oh, Arthur threw himself into the part. Leon hadn’t really expected that. 

 

They all made a show of handing back their dishes and thanking Merlin, but it was the king who sealed the deal, scrabbling out the last morsel left in the pot and groaning with his taste buds’ approval--and then telling Merlin it was too salty. Leon almost lost it at that point. 

If they thought Merlin had looked downtrodden before, now he appeared resigned and near tears. He started to walk away again towards the stream, arms loaded with pots and pans, eyeing the bushes and the berries there. They’d be pretty hard to pick in the dark, really...

It was time. 

“Merlin. There’s another plate here.”

Good. Good boy. Amidst all of their raucous laughter, Merlin laughed too. It wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying if Merlin had taken offense.

Leon handed him the still-hot bowl and a clean spoon, but not before ruffling Merlin’s hair and telling him that he’d wanted to eat it all, but the king hadn’t let him--he didn’t want to be kept awake all night by Merlin’s belly rumblings.

Leon had forgotten how much fun questing with mates he’d bonded with could be.

~~~~~~

Merlin went right back to being peculiarly not himself the next morning. When they thought they’d lost the trail again, Merlin seemed almost outraged, declaring “We had him, we were so close!” and stomping off eastward. 

“Where are you going, we don’t even know which way he went?”

“He’s heading east.” No hesitation, not one iota of doubt. Curiouser and curiouser...

Arthur scoffed. “How do you know that?” Merlin couldn’t know, of course.

Merlin seemed to finally realize how unlike himself he was being, looked around self consciously. “I can sense it.”

Oh, of course he could. Merlin, who still got lost in the palace after over five years working there...

Arthur thought the same. “Sense is not something I usually associate with you, Merlin.”

But Elyan confirmed Merlin was right, and even if it was probably only a lucky guess, Leon couldn’t help but chuckle out an incredulous “Well done, Merlin!”, giving credit where credit was due. 

Merlin smiled a pleased, shy smile and fell into step beside Arthur, offering a cheeky “Have you ever heard of the word sorry?”

“No, is that another word you made up?”

Well, at least Merlin hadn’t called the new king a dollop-head... yet. 

~~~~~~  
They headed east, in ever- increasing heat, until the sun was nearly at its zenith, and then ran into what appeared to be a dead end. The cave face seemed strangely familiar somehow.

Arthur turned, disgusted, and was about to head back, but Merlin urged him to continue. “What about the cave?”

“We’re wasting our time”, Arthur dismissed him, but then Percival pointed to something in the soft earth.

A boot print.

Just how was Merlin doing this? Since when had he become such a mighty tracker?

As always, Arthur took point, and they continued on into the cave. It was much cooler inside, and they had torches for light. Even Arthur seemed to recognize that Merlin’s instinct was guiding them extraordinarily. But Arthur was Arthur, and it wasn’t long before his impatience reared again. “This is ridiculous, where’s he headed?”

Couldn’t Arthur feel the increasing coolness, hear the sound of rushing water? 

Merlin just pointed ahead, murmured that he could see light in front of them.

The waterfall was breathtakingly beautiful, and the shocking rush of cold as they stepped through invigorated them all, overheated as they were in their chainmail. 

Once on the other side, they had a slightly steep embankment to climb. The way was damp and slick, and Merlin slipped twice--some things never changed. When he went to his knees the second time, Arthur looked down at him and snorted. He grabbed a handful of the servant’s wet jacked and hauled him with him, with Leon on his other side helping them along. Merlin gave some token protests, “I can do it, I’m fine!” which, predictably, Arthur laughed at. “Of course you can, Merlin. We just can’t have you falling and breaking that scrawny neck of yours, can we. You’ve shown yourself not completely useless on this trip.” Leon and the others all chuckled at Merlin’s sheepishness and Arthur’s poorly concealed mother-henning.

They were all so much more comfortable and refreshed after going through the waterfall, and while the air temperature had to be fifteen degrees cooler on this side, Leon knew they’d all be dry before long. And wet hair meant another chance to show off for Gwaine, of course. He flipped and swished his long mop several times once they were all moving again, sending droplets flying everywhere. Leon supposed he should just be grateful that Gwaine had had a rinsing. Maybe now he wouldn’t reek to high heaven as much.

The tower was in clear view and a stunning sight when they reached the top of the ridge. Without a word, Merlin began jogging towards it, long limbs easily covering a lot of ground. 

Running like this wasn’t something they ever did unless they were being chased or in pursuit. Leon had been taught since he was a squire to always conserve energy, whenever possible--one never knew what might lay just around the next bend. 

~~~~~~  
It was almost nightfall, and they’d need to stop soon, start setting up camp for the night. Leon said nothing, but he didn’t like their position, which was very unwise strategically. They were surrounded on both sides by hills, with the six of them on the path in the middle of it all walking bullseyes, if someone were of a mind. 

Someone was.

Ambushes were a bloody coward’s tactic. Leon never heard their attacker, but Percival’s yell and expletive was certainly unmistakable. Warrior’s instincts immediately kicked in, with everyone immediately charging for the relative cover of the overhangs of the cliffs on either side. Arthur, always acutely aware that Merlin had no warrior’s instincts, and very little common sense, manhandled him beside him. Knowing Merlin as they did, the silly servant probably would have tried to make friends with their assailant, all while standing there in the open in the middle of the path.

They weren’t safe at all, not like this. Arthur called to Percival and the big man said he was alright, but he wasn’t--there was a buggering arrow lodged in his leg. 

“Where is he...” Arthur muttered, eyes frantically scanning the treeline above them. Leon did the same, but couldn’t spot a trace of the archer. Arthur stretched his sword across Merlin and tapped the rock next to Leon’s shoulder, leaning forward to tell him, “I’ll draw his fire, you get him to safety...”

Oh, no, no, no, this wasn’t right, a new king risking himself like this with no heirs! He should be letting his men draw the fire...

No time to argue--they moved at the same time, in opposite directions, Leon sprinting to where Percival had gone down, and Arthur running back towards where they’d just come. Leon managed to loop his arm with Percival’s like a synchronized dance, and hoist him upright. Their momentum carried them both forward, concealed just enough in another overhang. Leon’s heart was pounding in his chest, that familiar bitter taste in his mouth.

For a moment, there was silence, and all that could be heard was their own panting breaths.

Arthur made a very reckless attempt at capturing their ambusher, to no avail. Oh, this was no good--Arthur had completely forgotten that he was no longer a young prince--he was king. If he were to get himself killed now...

How could the man have disappeared so quickly? After some searching, they found a shattered crossbow, but that was all. None of it made any sense. Did the coward also have magic? It would explain a lot of things.

The only good news was that Percival did not appear seriously wounded--by some incredible stroke of luck, the crude arrow had just nicked the top of his boot, and the leather had saved his flesh from real damage. The wound was painful, but it wasn’t bleeding too badly. He could walk. 

They had perhaps less than hour to go before dusk, and Merlin was running again behind Arthur, who had finally re-discovered both his self preservation instincts and his sensibilities and was cautiously moving from tree to tree, well concealed.

Leon was a few paces behind, helping Percival, and with all the noise Merlin was making with his crashing about, Leon almost missed Arthur’s warning shout to Merlin. But he did see Merlin’s sudden stop and slide to the ground, and then Arthur impatiently and angrily grabbing him and roughly dragging him back behind the tree he’d been partially concealed at. 

Booby traps--the woods had been set with booby traps. Merlin had almost triggered a deadly one. In full daylight, it would have been hard to miss, but now, in semi-darkness and with a manservant who usually didn’t notice anything until after he’d tripped over it--

Arthur was having the same reaction to Merlin’s stupidity that Leon had, it looked like. When Merlin tried to say they could go around the trap, Arthur shook him a little and spoke to him like one would a particularly dense child: “Nooo--he knows we’re coming.”

“That’s a risk we have to take!”

No, they really didn’t, Merlin. Leon held his own tongue, because otherwise, he’d be shouting the forest down about now. Stupid, naive Merlin--what was wrong with him?

Arthur shut him down, using his “brook no argument” tone that even Merlin couldn’t argue with. Arthur didn’t even raise his voice. “We’ll make camp, and continue at dawn.” He walked away from Merlin, and Leon saw Merlin make an incredibly frustrated gesture before following after him.

~~~~~~  
Another night, another campsite, another pot of quite-tasty-but-not-enough stew. 

And this time it was Arthur who pulled the prank. Maybe it wasn’t original, but it did earn points for annoying Merlin. Leon thought that Arthur might still be a tad perturbed with his manservant for giving him that fright earlier today, when he’d nearly skewered himself through his own recklessness. 

Merlin played along this time, looking wryly exasperated when Arthur sent him off to get firewood, right after he’d taken Merlin’s plate and spoon out of his hand. It was something very few people knew about Arthur, that he had a good sense of humor and could jolly well joke and laugh with the best of them.

Well. As long as the joke wasn’t on him.

When Merlin was out of sight, Leon sidled up to the king. “Shall we hide it this time, Sire?” He indicated the rest of the stew in the pot, Merlin’s food.

“Oh yes, he’ll have to work for it this time. But first, let’s finish our own meals. He won’t be back for a minute I’m sure.”

That was when things became very blurry and unclear for Leon. His plate was almost clean, but he found himself feeling incredibly drowsy and congested. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. He was just going to lie down and rest for just a moment against the tree, before it was his time for watch. He coughed a little, and then thought he should probably let Arthur know that he was just going to doze for a brief period. But when he turned to look at Arthur, (and it took an enormous amount of effort to do that, just to move his head), the king was asleep, mouth open rather unattractively.

And his next moment of awareness was awakening to broad daylight, jumping up with his sword in hand, seeing the other knights around him and the king doing the same. Everyone had the same perplexed expression of bewilderment. 

Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~

The return trip to Camelot was a queer and puzzling affair.

Leon, the king and the other knights had run in the direction of the tower, only to feel the ground begin to quake and hear a growing rumble. They met up with Merlin, who had reached the top of hill just in time to see the tower implode upon itself. Leon had no doubt in his mind that an egg, even a dragon’s egg, could ever withstand such destruction.

Leon knew that it was petty and unworthy of himself, but he actually felt rather bereft to have not taken part in ensuring the egg’s demise. How could he have slept while a scrawny manservant with jug-ears took care of the quest? And just why hadn’t Merlin woken them up before he’d dashed off to confront a very dangerous criminal? How had Leon slept all night and almost to midday? He never overslept! Leon couldn’t remember ever having overslept in his life.

Arthur’s demand for answers only yielded vague responses and no insight: “ I tried to wake you up and you wouldn’t budge! I caught a glimpse of Borden and followed him, and was just outside the tomb when I heard the rumbling and ran back here. We’ve just been incredibly lucky--I guess it was all meant to be!” And then Merlin had smiled that silly, disarming, oddball smile of his (Arthur only scowled back at him in return, and Leon got the impression he was disappointed too). 

Merlin said he had no further details to offer, and Arthur asked him if he was stonewalling. Now that was an interesting notion--just why would Merlin want to do that, anyway?

It wasn’t until they were through the cave and almost back to where they’d sheltered their horses that Leon noticed Percival was no longer limping from his arrow wound at all.

Leon’s mind stayed occupied all the way to Camelot, turning the riddle over and over like one of those brain teasers his tutors used to assign. They would have been very disappointed in him today--he failed dismally at unraveling it all. In the end the best Leon could come up with was that many single unlikelihoods had come together to allow them victory over another dragon-foe.

Leon wasn’t at all satisfied with that, but it was all he had.

Gaius was waiting for them when they arrived in the citadel’s courtyard, or more accurately, for Merlin. The look that passed between them carried the weight of the silent conversations Merlin usually only shared with the king.


	6. Chapter 6

eon supposed it was inevitable--a new king, and a very young king at that, was bound to be tested by criminals and opportunists. 

There were reports of increased skirmishes from all across Camelot’s borders, and they seemed to be growing worse, bolder and more frequent. 

Caerleon had been a thorn in Camelot’s side since Leon could remember. Every knight knew of how King Uther had defeated him at the Battle of Denaria. Apparently the warrior-king Caerleon had never forgiven or forgotten the defeat--it was forever stuck in his craw, and he’d never stopped his nipping about at Camelot’s borders like a gadfly.  
Uther’s death had only seemed to strengthen his resolve. Arthur’s father hadn’t been dead a week before reports began to filter in regarding raids on almost every one of Camelot’s borders, and nearly a third of them could be attributed to Caerleon’s armies.

They couldn’t let anyone get away with this--they couldn’t let any kingdom believe that King Arthur’s kingdom was easy pickings, or that the people in the outer villages were unprotected. The words began to be repeated amongst the knights and soldiers as more and more breakouts of trespassing, invasions and pillaging of Camelot lands were reported. They were all chomping at the bit. None of them were warmongers, but they all felt the obligation to protect what was theirs. Something had to be done, a strong message sent that this would not be tolerated by Camelot’s King Arthur.

It was only right.

And then the village of Stonedend on the western border was seized, and they knew that the time of debating and declarations were over. They were twenty knights, plus the king, Lord Agravaine, and the king’s manservant on this mission. Their intent was not yet to engage, but to scout and gather information on what their old enemy was up to.

They had to make a statement, and it was the armies of Caerleon that were making the most trouble. 

~~~~~~

Leon found himself wondering almost the same types of things on all their missions these days, but this time, it wasn’t “Why is Merlin here?” ; it was “Why is Lord Agravaine here?” It made no sense to Leon, to leave the kingdom without leadership, with no one on the throne. Arthur could not be persuaded to take a less active role in defending his kingdom, of that Leon was certain, but his uncle should have been acting regent in his stead. Agravaine was a blood relative to the present king (even if not directly in line for the throne), and certainly more than capable, even if Leon often did not always agree with his methods. 

As far as Leon could tell, Guinevere and Gaius were in charge of Camelot at the moment. At least that was how it seemed.

Leon sighed to himself. It was a long trip with even longer yet to go, and there was such an atmosphere of tension in their ranks, of the kind Leon did not usually sense even on a grim mission into battle. These were, after all, only men they were up against, not the unknown, not the latest magical scourge. This could be a cakewalk.

Alright, Leon knew better than that.

Gwaine was riding beside Leon in their column, and rather than his usual absurd, mindless chatter, he’d been exceptionally taciturn, even after Leon had tried to converse with him. And while Merlin and Arthur at the head of their line seemed normal enough, with Merlin jabbering away as always, Leon noticed Agravaine, riding just behind them, watching them both with an expression of near-disdain, even shaking his head a few times silently in disapproval.

Ah, well. Leon was resigned to Arthur’s inexplicable tolerance for his manservant’s outspoken loquaciousness and inappropriateness; in time, Agravaine would either accept him too or convince Arthur to make some changes . And as for Gwaine, well, Leon couldn’t worry about a knight’s strop when the defense of their kingdom was at hand. Leon supposed he should just be glad that Gwaine wasn’t being his usual incorrigible self . 

~~~~~~

They were almost upon the Caerleon army before they realized who they were observing. It was an incredible stroke of luck, to be thus far undetected by them, especially with as many men as they were traveling with. This wasn’t one of the border villages--they were trespassing right in the heart of the kingdom! The outrageous gall of them! Were these barbarians suicidal?

It certainly gave more credence to the widely-held belief that while the Caerleon army may be fierce fighters, they weren’t particularly intellectually gifted.

Camelot’s army stayed out of sight while Arthur, Agravaine and Leon discussed the best way to proceed. They needed to maintain their element of surprise. Gwaine wanted a straightforward engagement, (though he hadn’t been invited into their conference), but it was Agravaine that provided an idea: A decoy. Have a single man “surprised” by the sudden appearance of Caerleon’s forces, and lead them directly into Camelot’s forces, trapping them. Agravaine must have been inspired by their current hiding place, with hills on both sides and a narrow path leading to a dead end into a mountainside.

Leon did not generally approve of subterfuge, would not have suggested the idea himself. To him, tricking opponents lacked honor. Battle wasn’t a game, after all. But the plan Agravaine proposed did seem to promise the most success and fewer number of casualties. 

But who would be the bait? They were almost evenly matched man per man with the opposition and would need their numbers if Caerleon’s forces decided to put up a fight. And of course they would fight...

Arthur immediately declared that he himself would act as decoy, since it was unlikely any of them would recognize him. Leon wanted to cover his own eyes. The king simply had to stop thinking like that--he was a king with no heirs, and to risk himself--he just couldn’t do that any longer. He had to learn to take advantage of all of his resources. 

Merlin said, “I’ll do it.”

Leon didn’t remember Merlin being invited into the discussion, and Arthur just shook his head and scoffed, “No, Merlin”, dismissively. 

Leon and all of the knights all stepped forward then, offering themselves, though none of the other knights had been involved in the discussion any more than Merlin had. Leon blurted,“It cannot be you, Sire!” 

“Actually, my lord, I think Merlin would be perfect for this”, Agravaine interjected. “We do need all of our trained warriors here to dispatch them...”

“Being fodder is not why Merlin is here. I’ll do it, I’ll attract their attention and lead them here.” This from Gwaine.

“Could anyone tell me just exactly why Merlin is here, then?” Agravaine asked mildly. Arthur gave him an unreadable look in response to that, (and Merlin said nothing), but, Leon noticed, Arthur didn’t offer an answer.

Gwaine snapped, “It’s not to sacrifice himself like this, that’s for damn sure!”

“Gwaine”, Leon warned. The man still had not learned how to speak to his betters. Would he never learn the correct way to behave as a knight?

In truth though, Leon too was more than uncomfortable with the added element of Merlin to the plan. Even if they put Merlin in a borrowed quilted surcoat and chainmail, he weighed less than all of that, delicate thing that he was, and if anything went wrong, if they sent a flying arrow or threw a hammer at him, Merlin wouldn’t be able to defend himself. Besides which, the man was notoriously clumsy. He’d most likely trip over himself and fall before ever herding their prey into position.

And Gwaine wouldn’t let it go. “I know a thing or two about Caerleon and their ways. They don’t have an imaginative thought in their wooden skulls, nor do they have an ounce of compassion. If Merlin is caught, he’ll be killed, it’s as simple as that. I would be the better choice.”

“It’s because you’re trained as a warrior that we need you here to engage them, Gwaine!” Agravaine’s voice was becoming more and more impatient and scornful. “The boy doesn’t have to do anything difficult or fancy, he doesn’t have to talk, he doesn’t have to defend himself against anyone--we’ll do all that. The only thing he has to do is lead them to us. He’s a fast enough runner, what with those long gawky limbs of his. ” Agravaine went on to remind everyone how the king often had Merlin run with him and the knights during training, speaking of Merlin as if he wasn’t even present. Gwaine continued to shake his head in protest, his face now dark with anger, but Arthur was looking at Merlin less dismissively.

“They’ll think he’s easy pickings!” Agravaine was shouting now, and Gwaine took a threatening step forward. 

‘Maybe because he is’, Leon thought.

“A moment, everyone”, King Arthur said, and everyone stopped talking. Leon thought that Agravaine and Gwaine had probably forgotten he was there. “Merlin, I would prefer not to put you in this position, but if you are indeed willing...”

“There , you see? You don’t have to do this, my friend...”

“Shut up, Gwaine!” Leon snapped. He’d liked Gwaine a whole lot better when he was uncharacteristically silent and brooding.

“It’s alright, Gwaine.” Merlin held up a hand, and Gwaine stilled. Everyone looked at Merlin expectantly. Merlin just looked at Arthur and nodded once. “I’ll do it.” And then he grinned that foolish grin of his at the king. “Better me than you, right?”   
~~~~~~  
Merlin really didn’t look afraid. They dressed him up in chainmail (and yes, it all but fell off him, it was so big on his thin frame, like a little kid playing dress-up) and a borrowed red cloak, and sent him off. 

Just before he’d left, Leon had watched Gwaine and Merlin exchange a few quick, terse words in private, and if Leon wasn’t mistaken, he’d seen Gwaine angrily stamp his foot at one point. He looked lividly angry, and Merlin looked like he was trying to calm and reassure him.

Leon had to admire the servant’s courage. He’d volunteered to spare his king, endlessly loyal. And he had to be aware of the fact that it wasn’t to be as effortless as Agravaine made it out to be.

Leon glanced over at Arthur, crouching next to his uncle. He looked serious and focused, speaking quietly with Agravaine, though not particularly anxious. 

That surprised Leon. He’d expected more worry, more of a reaction from Arthur.

Not Leon’s business, and not his right to judge. His job was to support and serve the king. Leon hunkered down in the shadows of their hiding place and waited for Merlin to bring them the warrior band of Caerleon.

~~~~~~

Bit of a jolt, really, to think of Merlin as heroic.

It went off almost perfectly. They all heard the thundering horde before they saw them, and Leon thought he could smell them too. They were most definitely a rough-hewn warrior caste, most of them with long, unkempt hair and beards, wearing crudely-made clothes of leather, fur and metal. There was a long-standing joke about the people of Caerleon: “The men were men and the women were too.”

And now this small group of men (women?) were all bellowing like animals while chasing a single man to their own capture. 

Merlin did his job admirably, selling the idea of a lost, bewildered young knight of Camelot right up to the point that he had them almost into position, and then he tripped. Of course he tripped, this was Merlin, after all. One of the horde threw a small axe at Merlin’s seated form, and Leon winced at where it landed: Oi, too close. It had almost dictated Merlin’s future family planning.

Merlin plucked the axe from the ground and scrambled to his feet, holding the axe in what Merlin probably thought was a threatening manner.

“Looks like you’re trapped, boy”. The man in front with the grizzled, greying beard and uncultured accent gloated.

Merlin matched him gloat for gloat. “That’s the idea” he returned, and smiled triumphantly. 

One of Camelot’s archers hit his mark, and Arthur leaped, crowing “ON ME!”. 

The last thing Leon remembered thinking before battle fever took over was, “Was it really necessary for Arthur to jump full-bodied from a cliff like that?”

~~~~~~

Caerleon’s men fought dirty, and like little girls. One of their men actually bit Leon on the hand when Leon had him pinned.

But the battle was very short lived, for they were hardly a match for Camelot’s knights. When the dust started to settle, only a handful of Caerleons were still standing. The rest were either dead or dying. 

Perhaps now they’d think twice about traipsing into Camelot lands and trying to steal what wasn’t theirs.

~~~~~~  
Leon just couldn’t believe it. Every once in a blue moon, dumb luck went beserk and made a gift that seemed almost insane. It seemed today that Camelot had hit the motherlode. 

They were sorting themselves out, getting ready to set up camp, when Agravaine came forward, hauling one of the Caerleon survivors with him. Arthur barely glanced up, reminding his uncle that they’d take the prisoners with them and deal with them when they got back to Camelot.

“I fear this is no ordinary prisoner, Your Highness!” Agravaine’s voice was loud and out of breath as he yanked the bedraggled prisoner’s pendant from his neck and handed it to Arthur.

“Well, well, well”. Leon could hear the barely concealed excitement in Arthur’s voice.

Leon didn’t even have to look; he knew what it had to be. His heart started to pound. This was indeed fortuitous; it meant they now had incredible bargaining power.

Merlin, still in his cloak and chainmail disguise, had no such insight and asked Arthur what it was.

Arthur answered, “This, Merlin, is the royal crest of Caerleon. Is it not...Your Highness?” He directed the last to the king of Caerleon seated on the ground before him...glaring back at him defiantly, if rather ineffectually.

Percival glowered back at King Caerleon, and Gwaine, beside Leon, made a growling noise deep in his throat. 

 

~~~~~~  
Night fell quickly and darkly in the forest. After Agravaine and Arthur had unsuccessfully questioned Caerleon--most of which resulted in inarticulate grunts and spitting from the foreign king-- they handed him over to Leon and Percival, who bound him tightly and tethered him to a tree. 

Merlin was back in his own clothes and had already gotten several fires going and food simmering. He was crouching on the ground, readying bowls and utensils and casting worried glances over to where Agravaine and Arthur were no doubt discussing Caerleon’s fate. Leon wondered if anyone had even said anything to Merlin yet about his part in their success today. He was about to go over to him, give him a pat on the back and a “Well done”, when there was a commotion near the prisoners.

Gwaine had kicked the king of Caerleon and looked like he was preparing to do so again.

Leon rushed over to them, astonished. Gwaine had never abused a prisoner before, even after the fiercest of fighting. He was the always one of the first to get their prisoners food and water after a battle (once their own were looked after), all with an attitude of “No hard feelings, mate.” Even those he had run through, or had tried to run him through, were always treated with detached understanding--Both sides had had a job to do, and after it was done, they’d just get on with things...

What on earth had brought this on, then?

Gwaine landed another hard kick, and Caerleon’s king grunted in pain, but then looked up and laughed at him mockingly. “What is your problem, boy? Never seen a real warrior? Too much time among girly-men?”

“Bastard!”, Gwaine hissed, and drew his fist back.

“Stop!” Leon shouted. “Gwaine, what the hell? We don’t do this!” And Percival and Elyan were there now too, glancing down at the still-chuckling king, and then back at Gwaine in puzzlement. 

Gwaine’s voice was trembling with rage--and where had it come from? “You have no idea what he’s done, Leon! He is absolutely filthy vermin--”

“He is a king, and he will be treated as such! Gwaine!”

And now Gwaine’s anger shifted to Leon, and his face twisted into sneering contempt. “Still on your high and mighty noble horse, I see, Sir Leon. You’ll never change, will you--”

Merlin appeared as if out of nowhere, hooked his arm with Gwaine’s and all but dragged him away and out of sight behind an outcropping of scrub brush.

“Aww, dissension among the ranks, then? Trouble in your perfect Camelot?” Caerleon still continued to mock them all from the ground.

“Shut up, you.” Leon pointed down at him, fought to keep his voice steady. It was embarrassing to have such a display in front of anyone, but in front of a prisoner...

Moreover, Leon realized how much Gwaine’s angry words about nobility had surprised and stung him. He’d thought they had reached a truce of sorts.

He indicated with his head that Elyan and Percival were to keep an eye on the prisoner, and moved away. He’d take first watch tonight; he could use the peace and quiet.

Leon glanced over at the fire where Agravaine and Arthur were sitting. They were both watching him, but resumed their own conversation when he looked their way.

~~~~~~~

Leon really wished people would realize how well voices could carry in still, dark nights.

He heard snatches of Agravaine and Arthur’s discussion regarding Caerleon and wished he hadn’t .Leon truly hoped he was wrong--he didn’t hear all of the conversation, after all--but it sounded an awful lot like Agravaine goading Arthur--manipulating him-- into taking drastic measures with Caerleon. Agravaine may have been playing off Arthur’s unsurety as a king, his reverence to his father’s memory and his lack of years lived--in fact, Arthur’s uncle had a keen understanding of Arthur, that much was obvious. And Agravaine was, undeniably, very old-school and immovable about his convictions; Leon had no doubt whatsoever that his “Might makes right” outlook seemed the undeniably righteous and only path to him. 

“You must send a clear message.”

“Did we not achieve that today?”

“No, Sire. Not enough. Not for the likes of Odin and Bayard and the countless others who covet Camelot’s wealth.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest that we force him to accept a treaty on our terms. He must withdraw his men from our land, and return our territories to us. He must surrender Evorwick.”

“He’d rather die than agree to such terms.”

“Then you are left with no choice.”

“I can’t just kill a man in cold blood.”

“You must do what you need to do to assert your authority on this land.”

Leon’s blood ran cold at that. What would such an act achieve, honestly? Camelot’s lands would still not be returned, and Leon knew how Camelot would respond if the tables were turned: They would see Caerleon’s lands turned to ash to avenge the execution of their king. 

On the other hand, Camelot didn’t go about stealing other kingdom’s lands, either. They had the high road here.

Leon knew, without a doubt, that Caerleon would never sign that treaty, would never give up Evorwick. He knew that Arthur knew it, too.

Agravaine ended the conversation by issuing what sounded suspiciously like an ultimatum to the king of Camelot:

“Decide by morning.”

A king’s uncle-- one not even of royal blood-- should not be speaking to his king that way.

When Merlin tried to speak to Arthur, it was one of the few times Leon wished that Arthur would let him.

~~~~~~~

Leon had terrible misgivings about what the morning would bring. He barely slept, spending most of the night (when not on watch) in his “soldier’s state”. As such, he knew when Merlin got up to tend to Arthur, bringing the king a cup of watered-down wine and re-kindling the fire, he heard their conversation too. And his heart grew sicker by the moment, for he knew that Arthur had, in fact, decided. And it was clear that Merlin knew it too, for he tried, he tried to remind Arthur that compassion was a strength and a statement as well. 

“You’re going to draw up this treaty?”

“I have to show my strength, show that I’m worthy of my father’s name.”

“Caerleon won’t sign it.You know that.”

Arthur responded immediately, apparently disappointed by his servant’s lack of support and agreement.

“Caerleon brought this upon himself!”

“Arthur. You’ve always shown mercy in battle, have never sought to humiliate your enemy in this way. This isn’t like you. This isn’t who you are.”

Leon had honestly never heard Merlin speaking to Arthur like this, so intense and seeming so aware and wise beyond his own years. Leon held his breath, not wanting to be noticed as listening, praying that for just this once, Arthur would see that his manservant was right. 

But Arthur would not listen, and reminded Merlin who Merlin was and what his job was, and it wasn’t to impart wisdom upon the king and remind him who he was. It certainly wasn’t to speak to him like an adviser or a friend or, hell, some sort of equal. And then Arthur stood and left. Merlin remained frozen there, looking lost and gut-punched.

It was as if Arthur had suddenly awoken from a drugged state, and remembered what it was to be king. 

Leon wondered painfully why he’d ever wished for such a thing.

~~~~~~~

Leon didn’t try to talk to Arthur. It wasn’t his place, and even if it had been, he knew the king’s mind was made up. There was nothing anyone could say at this point that would change it, and Leon knew that any attempts would only increase the king’s black mood. So he said nothing.

He said nothing when the king of Caerleon was brought before Lord Agravaine and the treaty offered to him. Percival stood beside Leon, twitchy and nervous and obviously aching to force this uncivilized king to show Camelot the respect they deserved. Elyan and Gwaine--scowling, seething Gwaine--stood watching slightly above them on a small hill, with Merlin between Gwaine and Sir Rennon, one of Camelot’s knights from the old guard. All of them, even Gwaine, were silent and expectant.

Leon had never put much stock in the phrase “Tension so thick you could cut it with a knife”, until today.

“What is this?” Caerleon’s thick, coarse voice was still mocking as he eyed the scroll before him. Agravaine rolled his eyes and handed the treaty to Leon, apparently thinking the warrior king, like many of his ilk, was illiterate.

Somehow, inappropriately, the thought, “Percival could read it to him, he’s been diligent about learning” came to mind. 

Leon grimaced at his own thoughts, opened the scroll and showed it to Caerleon. At this point, not being able to read it would be the least of his troubles. Leon had no doubt he knew exactly what it said.

Leon’s thoughts were confirmed when Caerleon barely glanced at it. “You expect me to sign this. To humiliate myself before you.” It wasn’t a question. Yes, that was exactly what was expected of him.

“You invaded our kingdom. You took what did not belong to you.”

“And if I do not sign?” Gods, why was he doing this? Did he truly want to start a war?

“Then you will pay for it with your life.”

Caerleon scoffed a derisive laugh. “And who makes these terms?”

“Arthur Pendragdon. King of Camelot.” Arthur finally spoke from behind Agravaine. From the corner of his eye, Leon saw Merlin stiffen further and look only with his eyes at Arthur. 

Caerleon shoved Leon’s arm away, took a step or two towards Arthur. Percival angrily followed him, grabbed his arm. The bearded king shook him off easily and issued an obvious challenge to Arthur: “Very well.” And then shrugged and said, as if discussing weather, “Then make it quick.” And knelt before Arthur.

Gauntlet thrown down. 

To his credit, Arthur tried one more time, for reason and civility and respect for both sides. “Think what you’re doing, Caerleon. This treaty could seal a truce between us. There would be peace, as there was between my father and yours.”

‘Sign it!’, Leon wanted to shout. ‘Can’t you see he’s offering you a way to save face? This way everyone goes home with something, it’s more than fair...make your mark on the scroll, and end this madness now!’

“I am not my father, and you are not Uther.” And then, taunting: “ Do you really have the guts to kill me?”

Gauntlet picked up and accepted.

‘Yes, Caerleon, he really does--and just like you, Arthur Pendragon does not back down, even when cornered.’

Except...this wasn’t a challenge. It was a pissing contest. 

Merlin shook his head, very slightly, looking profoundly disappointed and sad. He kept his face lowered after that, did not witness the end of this sovereignty.

Arthur did the execution himself, again breaking with tradition. Caerleon’s blood splattered his face, his golden hair. 

Gwaine’s stare was so unwavering at their enemy that he might have burned a hole through Caerleon, but he remained silent. Elyan closed his eyes briefly, looking slightly nauseous. 

Leon glanced at Agravaine, who had also caught some of Caerleon’s blood on his face, his clothes. He looked...pleased. For a moment, Leon was eerily reminded of Morgana and the pleasure she took in hurting people.

~~~~~~~

There was a long, long surreal moment when no one moved or said anything. In Leon’s case, he didn’t know what to do or say, so he merely waited for a cue from Arthur.

But it was Agravaine who spoke first. “Shall I have the other prisoners rounded up and prepared for execution as well, Your Highness?”

Leon felt his stomach lurch. How fortunate that he hadn’t had breakfast yet.

But Arthur, it seemed, had had enough. He raised a hand to his mouth--a steady hand, Leon noticed--and answered, very clearly, “No. Our message will be delivered. Release all the prisoners with the body of their king and send them home.” And Arthur turned and walked back towards their encampment and away from the site.

“But, my Lord!” Agravaine looked shocked, outraged. He started after the king.

“You have my orders.” Arthur waved a vague hand in a gesture that might have been ‘Don’t follow me’, and Agravaine stopped.

Another long moment, and then Merlin left, walking past Agravaine and following Arthur, snagging an empty bucket along the way. Probably going to try to help the king clean himself up. 

Arthur didn’t tell him not to follow him.

Leon cleared his throat. “Elyan, Percival, Gwaine--with me.

 

~~~~~~~

It took far longer than expected--Caerleon’s men had reacted with rage and grief upon seeing the body of their king, and several fights had broken out, threats hurled--but finally, finally, they’d left for home. They’d been granted a cart to transport the king’s body back to their own borders. Leon thought that magnanimous of Camelot, though he doubted they would agree.

This hadn’t been the first execution he’d witnessed of course--but it was the first one that had left Leon feeling so shaky. This would not be the last they’d see of their old enemies, that much was certain. 

Leon caught sight of Merlin trying to help Arthur get the blood out of his hair and wipe away the dried blood at his neck. They weren’t speaking, and Arthur had his back to Merlin, looking straight ahead, standing stiffly straight, hands fisted at his sides. Leon got that same uncomfortable feeling he often had when he witnessed Merlin and Arthur alone--that he’d unwittingly intruded on an intimate moment. It was ludicrous of course, they weren't intimate. Merlin was simply doing what any manservant would do for his master. 

Leon saw Merlin take one of Arthur’s hands, palm it open, and swipe at it with the wet cloth.

Leon looked away and busied himself with helping to break down the camp.

~~~~~~~

Eventually Merlin re-joined Leon, Elyan and Percival in their chores, washing and gathering their cooking utensils, gathering bedrolls. Leon saw Arthur rejoin his uncle by the horses. Gwaine was working with some of the other knights several paces away, still looking murderous.

Elyan almost whispered to Merlin, “Is he alright?”, indicating the king with a jerk of his head. 

Merlin nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

~~~~~~~

They were packed and ready to go, most of them already mounted on their horses and their lines formed. Arthur was on his warhorse at the head of the line, absently patting his horse’s shoulder. 

Agravaine was muttering to himself as he fastened his own bedroll to his horse’s saddle. Leon was pretty sure he heard the words “Merlin” and “stupid”.

They were waiting for Merlin, of course. Arthur turned suddenly in his saddle to look at Leon and asked, “Where is my toad of a servant, anyway?”

It was such a normal thing for Arthur to say that Leon momentarily forgot the weight of the morning and answered him truthfully: “Peeing, Sire.”

Arthur bellowed, “Hurry up, Merlin!” in the general direction of the most likely group of bushes.

Agravaine rolled his eyes in utter disgust. “Worthless!”

No, Merlin wasn’t worthless. Leon’s sense of fairness kicked in at that, remembering what he’d seen of Merlin trying to wash away the blood on the king’s hands, and then hurrying to gather up their encampment for return to Camelot. This was the only chance he’d had to take care of personal things.

Leon remained silent, of course, but Gwaine beside him seemed to have no such compunctions. In fact, it just seemed to set off the long-haired knight’s trigger-wound temper once again.

“Oh, you nobles. Of course you never take a piss yourself, do you. That half an hour you spent last night behind the tree, dropping noxious fumes that almost killed all the wildlife for twenty leagues, that was just...”

“Hold your tongue, Sir Gwaine, or I’ll cut it out!”

“Gwaine!”

Arthur twisted in his saddle, “All of you, shut the hell up!”

They all subsided. 

After a moment, Agravaine wearily got on his horse. He looked at Leon for a moment and then told him, “The lack of discipline in your ranks, Sir Leon...”

Gwaine just shook his head, snorted.

Leon looked at Gwaine and then back at Agravaine. “Be assured, it will be addressed seriously as soon as we return to Camelot.”

Merlin took that time to come bounding up, long uncoordinated limbs flying. He mounted his mare and walked her the few paces to where Agravaine’s horse was sitting next to Arthur’s at the head of their column. Merlin always rode beside Arthur when they traveled.

Disgustedly, Agravaine jerked his head and told Merlin derisively, “Oh, servants at the end of the line.” He said it like Merlin was an imbecile, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and to any other servant, it might have been.

But Merlin wasn’t any other servant.

Merlin did what he always did in these situations: He looked at Arthur. But Arthur’s face was closed, terse. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look back at Merlin. He just made a “Tch!” sound to his horse to start moving.

Merlin swallowed and walked his horse back to the end of the line.

Gwaine turned his horse around and joined him. 

~~~~~~~

Leon passed a hand over his beard and shut his eyes briefly. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do this, he’d vowed before calling Gwaine to this meeting that he wouldn’t allow the wayward knight to do what he always did, goading and mocking Leon and leading him in absurd, circular conversations, but that was exactly what was happening again now. Damn the impossible, insufferable man! 

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, trying to stave off the headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes. He had tried to give Gwaine every possible opportunity to adjust to the life of a noble, but recent events had pretty much proven that it was hopeless, that Gwaine was hopeless. Enough was enough. 

“Sir Gwaine”, he said very quietly. “You need to listen to me very carefully. Your conduct over the last few days simply cannot be tolerated. Due to the circumstances of your knighthood...”

“Oh, here we go again.” Predictably, Gwaine interrupted once more. “ ‘The circumstances of my knighthood.’” He imitated Leon sarcastically, childishly. “And by that, of course, you mean the circumstances of my birth, in comparison to your own.”

“I am aware that your breeding does inform your actions. The other men of your station knighted alongside you have been able to learn to emulate those they have been granted the privilege of serving with...”

“Ah!” Gwaine leaned forward so abruptly that Leon stopped talking of his own accord. Gwaine’s eyes were sparkling with what Leon thought had to be sarcastic humor. “Clarify for me, would you, O great and noble Sir Leon? You’re saying, then, if I were of noble blood such as yourself, I would not be so inclined toward such grievous character flaws? That I might be more like yourself, even?”

It was Gwaine’s never ending rhetoric, his crusade and his mantra, and Leon was fed up enough with it and with Gwaine to answer, “You’ve done everything in your power to prove that that is so, yes.”

Gwaine slapped the table between them and chuckled mirthlessly. “Leon, you bloody ignorant cur...”

“Shut it, Gwaine! I mean it! This has gone on long enough. Look around, you fool--the drums of war are sounding and will be upon us in no time. I don’t have time to waste on the likes of an insolent fool who refuses to learn, who has no respect or loyalty for kingdom and crown--”

“Hold on there--don’t you dare accuse me of a lack of loyalty.”

“You disrespected Lord Agravaine--”

“That’s Agravaine, that’s not the princess. I would follow Arthur to war and back a hundred times if need be.”

“Don’t call him that--”

“Oh, Leon, stop being so damned worshipping. He’s a man, flesh and blood like you and me, and he’s a king by the luck of his birth, or lack of it. Merlin told me the first time we met that Arthur was a good man, and it turns out he was right...though the princess is better when his strings aren’t being yanked and he’s not trying to impress this one or that one. That, and when he’s not making Merlin work his skinny arse off and treating him like shit”, Gwaine added, almost to himself. “ Arthur should never have killed Caerleon, never would have if Agravaine hadn’t been there, all but embarrassing him into it. Caerleon’s queen has brass bollocks, and there’s no doubt we’ll be hearing from her very soon. And you’re right about one thing, war is most certainly imminent, and I have the feeling it’s not going to be pretty.”

Leon stared at Gwaine,stunned. All of his instincts wanted him to scream “Traitor” and “Treasonous” and “Ungrateful pillock”--but hadn’t he had these very same thoughts himself? He just...hadn’t spoken them aloud. To anyone.

“It is not up to you to question or second guess the king’s actions” Leon said stubbornly. “Your job certainly isn’t to shoot your big mouth off to the regent, or to abuse a royal prisoner...”

“It was far better than he deserved...” Gwaine muttered.

“You brought dishonor upon yourself, the king and Camelot by abusing a prisoner that couldn’t defend himself”, Leon spat, feeling his anger surge. “It was conduct unbecoming a knight of Camelot.” The truth was, he was genuinely disappointed in Gwaine. He’d worked and trained with Gwaine for almost two years now, had fought with him and alongside him, drank with him, laughed with him, and despite all of the man’s low-born flaws, had seen him demonstrate incredibly loyalty, bravery, and fealty. “You can hardly call what you did an act deserved or honorable.”

“Neither was executing him.”

Leon sighed. Right back where they started. “I am not going to overlook your behavior towards King Caerleon, not this time. Consider this conversation a very serious warning. I’m aware that during battle conflicts, emotion can run high and men can do things they may regret later...” Truth be told, Leon did know that, first hand.

“I don’t regret anything”, Gwaine shot back flippantly.

Leon waved a hand dismissively. He was exhausted. “So you are just a common street thug then, as common as your low-born birth.” Leon felt himself all but give up on Gwaine. With him, Leon’s belief that nobility was bred into the heart and the blood was demonstrated, in reverse. When things settled down, he was going to have to speak to the king about Gwaine’s place in the kingdom.

Gwaine didn’t react to the insult for a moment, didn’t respond to Leon’s obvious dismissal of him. When he finally did speak, his voice was very low and controlled. “Ah, Leon, you bleeding eejit. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I suppose you’re going to enlighten me.”

Gwaine shook his head, long hair spilling across his face. “Very tempting, but I don’t think you could handle it. Your head might explode. You’d have to change your pigheaded view of the world...admit how wrongheaded you are..”

The man certainly went on about nonsense. Leon reached for the quill and paper nearby at the table they were sitting at, signalling the end of the meeting, such as it had been. It was obvious that there was no talking with the likes of some.

After a few moments, he realized that Gwaine hadn’t left, though he hadn’t spoken again at all. He glanced up to see Gwaine staring at him with an expression that was almost thoughtful. Contemplative, even.

“You can go, Gwaine.”

“I don’t think I will. In fact, I think I’ve changed my mind. “

“About what?” Leon snapped.

“Enlightening you.”

The tip of Leon’s quill suddenly broke. Leon wanted to shout at Gwaine to get out, to stop bothering him, to cease his games, but the look on Gwaine’s face...

They stared at each other a moment, until Gwaine slowly smiled. 

Leon blurted, “Whose bastard son are you?”

 

~~~~~~~

Not a bastard at all. Gwaine knew exactly who his father had been.

“You made that up” , Leon said when Gwaine finished his “story”, knowing with terrible certainty that Gwaine wasn’t fibbing at all.

Gwaine just looked at Leon again and raised his eyebrows, pursed his mouth a bit. Strangely enough, he wasn’t even smirking. “You can always have the old guy , Geoffrey, the, uh, Octogenarian, check the genealogy records, if you want to confirm it.”

“It’s Geoffrey of Monmouth” Leon corrected churlishly. He clung to the only thing he had at the moment, denial: “Records have been forged before”. He was reminded painfully of Lancelot.

Gwaine just cocked his head, smirked at Leon, and yes, now he was mocking Leon. “Why would I do that? I’ve been trying to hide who I am nearly my entire life.”

And that was what Leon needed. He leaned across the table, jabbing at the air with a finger to make his point. “Why would you do that? That’s mad! You’re the son of a knight, you could have been trained since childhood...”

“Being a knight in the wrong king’s army means very little, doesn’t it. Especially to the knight’s widow and children.”

And there was the rub. It was unbelievable to Leon, the idea of a king turning a fallen knight’s family away as Gwaine had described. King Uther had always provided well for the family of anyone who was slain in his service, and Leon sometimes worried that Arthur became too involved with trying to help his fallen men’s next of kin.

But Leon’s gut knew Gwaine was telling the truth, even as staggeringly unthinkable as it seemed. Caerleon’s reputation was far reaching, and while some of the rumors had to be just rumors...

It explained everything, really: Gwaine’s cockamamie resentment of nobility, his talent with a blade, his unlikely education.

“Gwaine, you’re a knight now, why didn’t you say something? You would have been...”

“What? Treated better? No, thank you. I’ve told you before, all of you--Nobility is defined by what you do, not who you are. I guess you haven’t been listening.”

And maybe that was true. Leon had heard Gwaine say that, so many times now, so many times he was tired of hearing it, ad nauseum, ad infinitum. He’d simply ascribed it to sour grapes, to Gwaine being jealous of the noble class. Such an attitude wasn’t unique among the lower status.

What else was true that now, knowing what Leon did, the words took on a whole new meaning. Several, in fact, not the least of which was irony.

“You could have died...you were facing execution, the first time you came to Camelot. You could have saved yourself easily, if you’d just said who you are. Why didn’t you?”

“I did. I said I’m Gwaine, a man, as good and as bad as anyone else. That should be enough for fair treatment. It should have been.”

Leon just shook his head. This was still just unfathomable. “You’re Sir Gwaine, now.”

“I earned that title. So did Percival and Elyan and...Lancelot. Not everyone can say that.” Gwaine’s mouth twisted in an expression of disgust, and then he added, “I know of a few more who earn a whole lot more than what they’re granted, too.”

“Does one of those few have really large ears?”

They looked at each other and chuckled, and just like that, the tension of the last few minutes evaporated.

When they’d sobered and quieted again, though, Leon felt his face heat with a rush of shame and embarrassment. How Gwaine must have laughed at him behind his back, telling him that he was lesser because of his lack of title..

It wasn’t only Gwaine that had behaved ignobly and unbecoming to his station.

How could Gwaine ever respect him, ever choose to defer to Leon’s authority as First Knight of Camelot? Gwaine had been right all along, Leon was a knuckleheaded idiot. 

What could he possibly say now to Gwaine?

Leon looked down at the table, traced patterns in the old wood. Very quietly, without looking at his fellow nobleman, Leon asked, “Why have you told me this now? Somehow I don’t believe it was just to get the better of me.”

“No, you’re right about that.” Gwaine chuffed a laugh. “I just think...the princess is going to need a lot of help in the coming days. We’ll go to battle very soon, it’s only a question of when, not if. Things may get bad. He’s going to need his friends.”

Leon just looked at him, not really understanding. Gwaine shrugged one shoulder, carelessly. “Merlin’s expecting Arthur to bring us to a new age, and Merlin’s shown he usually knows what he’s talking about when it comes to the princess.” Gwaine made a quick gesture with his hands, palms open, and continued, “Merlin can speak kind of flowery when he gets going, that one. Anyway, I reckon it’ll be nice to be around for some changes. I’ll lend a hand if I can.”

Leon still really didn’t think Gwaine had answered his question, but mention of the king reminded him of his duty with sudden, sharp clarity. “Gwaine, we have to tell Arthur who you are...”

“He knows who I am”, Gwaine snapped, and now his voice was curt, short. “Haven’t you been paying attention? You can’t tell him anything. There’s a couple of other knights who share my ‘low born’ status”--Leon could almost see the quotation marks around the words-- “And we’re all in this together, the princess’ knights of the round table. No man above another. Who I was born to doesn’t come into the mix.”

Leon had to protest. Keeping secrets from King Arthur...it made Leon feel as though he was betraying the king somehow. He was about to tell Gwaine that they had to inform the king at least, if not anyone else, when there was a loud, insistent knock on the door.

If a knock could sound frantic and urgent at once...

He exchanged a look with Gwaine and called, “Enter!”

He recognized the scout more by the state of his attire than by face. The man looked like he’d been galloping all night, unshaven and unkempt, spattered with mud and smelling of horse. He hurried to Leon’s table and sketched a quick bow. Leon could see that he was panting.

Oh, no...

“Report.” 

“Caerleon’s queen has amassed an army and crossed into Camelot’s border.”

Both Leon and Gwaine were on their feet. “How many men?” Leon snapped.

“At least five thousand, with more coming from their further outposts.”

“When?” Gwaine demanded.

“At first light.”

Leon met Gwaine’s eyes just for a moment, and then Leon addressed the scout. “You’ve done well. Eat, wash and rest, and prepare yourself to move again by the morrow. You’re dismissed.” The man bowed hastily and left, and Leon was issuing Gwaine orders even as they both followed the scout out the door. “Begin gathering the men in the lower hall. Get everyone together, at my order, and tell them to wait for me there.” 

Gwaine was already moving quickly in the opposite direction, but called over his shoulder, “Where are you going?”

“To inform the king.”


	7. Chapter 7

He found the king on the training field with Merlin, practicing at the punching bag. Leon was quite a few paces away, but could hear the strength behind the blows Arthur was landing. Merlin was trying to hold the leather bag in place, but was jerking with each of the punches Arthur threw.

Just as Leon arrived close enough to speak, Arthur landed a particularly powerful strike, and the cord the leather bag was suspended from snapped. Merlin was sent sprawling, the heavy leather bag on top of him.

At any other time, Leon might have found that uproariously funny.

“Sire! A messenger this minute arrived.”

“What is it?”

“An army. They crossed our border at first light.” Leon delivered the grave news rapidly.

“An army? Whose army?”

‘Whose army do you bloody well think?!’ Leon wanted to shout. Surely Arthur couldn’t be surprised by this...

He said only, “Caerleon’s queen.”

Arthur stared at him for a long, frozen moment. Merlin, still on the ground, stared at Arthur.

And then Arthur seemed to shake himself, and was already striding past Leon towards the palace. “Have all soldiers and knights gathered in the lower hall...” 

“Already begun, Sire...”

“ Begin preparing the men for forced march, and gather all weapons. I’ll have Lord Agravaine immediately call the council to session, and--MERLIN!” The king’s unexpected bellow actually made Leon jump a bit, but from directly behind him and to his left, he heard Merlin answer, “Here, Your Highness!”

Leon hadn’t really expected him to still be laying under the punching bag on the ground...not really.

Arthur didn’t miss a beat. “Inform the kitchen to stop everything they’re doing and gather provisions for transport tomorrow at dawn--enough to feed all of Camelot’s fighting force. Then go to Gaius and get any medical supplies you can, and inform the stables to get all the horses ready, whether for riding or supply transport. Quickly, Merlin!” And Merlin was sprinting past them and up the palace steps.

Leon matched the king’s stride step for step as Arthur continued to issue orders. A million details to see to, endless preparations to make, and all must be completed in less than a day.

Camelot was at war.

~~~~~~~~~

Leon’s problem solving skills had never been put to the test as completely as this day. The logistics of moving an army and everything Camelot would need was mind-boggling. He was facing an impossible task that had to be made possible. It was at times like this that men proved their mettle. 

The castle was bustling with all the organized chaos one would expect. Leon could swear he had made at least three circuits of the entire palace, every corridor and room and staircase and alcove, by mid-afternoon. At some point he’d passed his squire, Merek, in some hallway, and he’d wordlessly passed Leon a wrapped piece of bread and some cheese before hurrying on to his assigned duties. Leon walked by the closed doors of the council session--a mere formality, that, for Arthur did not need the council’s consensus in this circumstance--and heard Agravaine’s voice start up another round of “Long live the king!” 

They were down by one catapult--the third one had not been repaired properly after their last siege against Morgana--and they were a bitch to drag along, but there was no help for it. They had plenty of other weapons, so at least that was not a worry to dwell on. All of the palace servants and maids were putting together foodstuffs that traveled well--dried meats and nuts foremost--and already loading them onto every available wagon and cart. They had enough horses for everyone, but mules were going to be pressed into service for transporting their supplies too: Merlin’s idea. Civilians of all trades would also be taken along--Camelot’s fighting force now included knights with smith and carpentry knowledge, (and just how incongruous that thought was, even after all this time, hit Leon all over again), but still, there were many others skills and services that would be needed--who knew how long this war would last?

Leon ran from one arrangement to another, not allowing himself to think beyond whatever problem needed his attention at the moment. He wasn’t alone of course--the knights of Camleot were trained for this sort of thing, and there were many battle hardened warriors--men older than Leon, who had seen even more front-line experience than himself--to delegate to. He chose men he knew he could trust, and gave the most sensitive issues to them and to Elyan, Percival and Gwaine.

Merek appeared again just as nightfall was setting in, handing him more food and a flagon of watered down wine, and then disappeared just as suddenly. In the courtyard, wagon lines were already being formed, and the shouts of men giving orders and their bobbing torches reflected off the glass Leon stood in front of--probably the first time he’d allowed himself a moment of rest since news of Caerleon’ s approaching army had reached him.

He wasn’t worried, at least not for his own life, anyway. He knew Camelot could win this war--they were the strongest fighting force in the five kingdoms, undeniably. 

But Leon also knew it was going to be a long, bloody, destructive road to victory. 

~~~~~~

It was late, but Leon knew there would be no sleep for him tonight. The endless preparations finally seemed to be coalescing into something resembling a state of near-readiness, but Leon was not about to leave anything to chance. Now was the time to check on the details, to ensure that everyone understood what was expected of them, that no minutia had been forgotten or fallen through the cracks. What was the saying?...’The devil was always in the details...’

He passed by the king’s quarters and caught a snatch of Arthur and his manservant’s conversation:

“This will be the last time either of us get to sleep in a proper bed.”

“Merlin, I’m prepared to face all manner of horrors, but I am not sharing this bed with you.”

Merlin’s laugh sounded forced, faked. “ What? No, that’s not what I meant...”

What? What on earth? Despite himself, Leon paused just at the king’s door to listen. Merlin was such an odd bird--

“Right. Good. Comfort to know.” Leon heard footsteps approaching the door and began walking quickly away, but not before he heard Merlin call “Where are you going?”

“That’s my business. And Merlin--don’t be here when I get back.” The door opened and Arthur left, turning immediately to his right and walking in the opposite direction to where Leon was making his hasty retreat, towards the staircase that lead out of the palace. He was wearing an unroyal-looking, homespun blue cloak.

Very puzzling. What in the world could that have been about?

The weird things one heard when eavesdropping. Leon shook his head in exasperation. Leon had a few ideas, but--

Not his business...and why was he wasting precious time wondering about the king’s idiosyncrasies. Leon had far more pressing concerns to worry about, like assigning a duty roster. There had to be some soldiers left behind to protect Camelot while the bulk of their fighting force was elsewhere....

~~~~~  
“Sir Leon, may I have a moment?”

Leon looked up impatiently at the guard who’d approached him. Ever since the duty roster had been announced, he’d had a constant stream of men coming to him--those assigned to the march wanted to stay, those assigned in town wanted to go--no. No more. Camelot’s citadel could not be left wholly unprotected.

“I’m afraid the roster is finalized. No changes will be made--no exceptions.”

“Uh, it’s not that--I, uh, I accept my assignment, but I’m, uh--”

“Speak up, man, what is it then?!” Leon spoke far more sharply than was the norm for him. Time was precious now, and he did not have many moments for timid stutterers. All around them, activity was reaching a fever pitch, and Leon needed to supervise, not stand here in the midst of things...

“I just wanted to say, I only hope I did not displease the king by stopping him tonight, Sir Leon!” And now the guard was even more nervous, all but wringing his hands, and Leon really looked at him for the first time. Leon couldn’t recall his name for the life of him, but he had mentioned the king--

“What are you talking about? You stopped His Highness, when?” 

“Tonight, nigh upon midnight! He wore a cloak that shielded his face, and I did not recognize him...”

“You--Wait-- Where was this?”

“The lower town, near the Thomas shack. I saw a figure, keeping to the shadows and out past curfew, and things being what they are now, it seemed suspicious so I demanded he declare himself. He turned around and took down his cloak, and I realized it was His Highness. I didn’t know--”

The Thomas shack. Guinevere's home. 

Ohhh.

A lot of things suddenly fell into place. 

“I am sure the king appreciates your diligence to your duty”, Leon said, carefully keeping his voice and face neutral and devoid of any emotion. “Did he chastise you for stopping him?”

“No, he--he just nodded and said there was no harm done, and then went on toward the residence--”

“He was alone, I take it?” Leon almost winced at himself--

“He was.”

Not even Merlin with him, then. That must have been why Arthur had been so short with Merlin, hadn’t answered when Merlin had asked where he was going earlier.

The king was at an unchaperoned woman’s home late at night, on the eve of war. That could only mean one thing...

“If the king said there was no harm done, than I am sure there is no need to worry. He is a fair man.You may carry on.” Leon dismissed the guard and the man gave Leon a grateful look before hurrying away. He may have been overreacting, but then, Leon recognized him from Uther’s reign. He may have been expecting less than fair treatment for a well-meaning mistake.

This night was just full of surprises. The only reason a man would go to a woman so secretly while the entire kingdom readied for war was because she was his mistress and he had gone to her for a pull. 

Nothing wrong with that of course, a man had his needs, and Leon was glad that the king had sought out release now, when there would likely be no other source but the camp followers. It also explained why Gwen was still always about in the castle when both Morgana and Uther were gone. Leon had often wondered just what it was she did in the palace, other than always be available to Arthur to encourage him and spout platitudes. 

Still, it was something of a surprise that Arthur had taken Gwen as his mistress. Leon’d never sensed any real passion or lust when they were together--they were so polite and careful with each other, so like friends or brother and sister than lovers, and even their backlit kisses in the corridors seemed to remain somewhat tentative and proper--almost sterile...

Leon ran a hand through his always-unruly hair, no doubt messing it beyond any semblance of presentability. Well. This was actually good news. If Gwen was mistress to the king, that meant it more unlikely that she was bound to be his peasant queen one day...probably. The king could continue to keep her as mistress while married to a proper royal partner.

And Leon’s next very impatient and perturbed thought was that this was absolutely, positively and unequivocally none of his concern and he should not waste another moment prying into the king’s sex life, even if only in his thoughts. 

~~~~~~~  
The crack of dawn...

Leon would not have believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it before him: Camelot’s forces were ready to move out. He’d been up all night, as had most of them. And now the men were all assembled in the courtyard and awaiting word from the king. They were going to have to move very quickly if they were to intercept the Caerleon army at the Ridge of Landshire, to hold the higher ground.

Arthur appeared, grim faced and rigid, and moved through the assembled lines silently. When he reached the very last line of men, he made a smart about face and told Leon, “Prepare the men to move out in five minutes.” 

Someone-- not the perpetually-pleased looking Agravaine, this time-- called out, “For the love of Camelot!” 

Arthur acknowledged the answering cry and then nodded at Leon. It was time.

~~~~~

Leon was finally mounted on his horse and anticipating the final go-ahead orders, and took the time to look around him. 

Elyan and Percival were just behind him, and beyond them, a sea of Camelot red. Good heaven, what a sight--they would be ahead of the last of their number by a full league before everyone had begun moving, trundling along. It took such resources to engage in war.

Leon didn’t see Merlin anywhere, but he knew he was present--he’d probably already taken his place at the back of the line with the other servants, behind the mules. It was strange to Leon to not see Merlin just before him, beside Arthur, and the peculiar way Merlin always sat in his saddle--he always seemed half-turned on his horse, slightly off-center, right hand holding his reigns, left hand fisted in his thigh... 

Actually, he always seemed to be turned towards Arthur, even when he rode, come to think of it. 

Leon thought it may be more practical for Merlin to be somewhat closer to the king than a mile behind him on this journey in order to serve or attend if Arthur should need him, but Agravaine had claimed proprietary.

Leon didn’t see Gwaine either, but he knew where he was --the peasant knight who was actually a noble pretending to be a peasant knight had chosen to ride at the back of the line alongside his friend Merlin. 

Merlin, who was probably one of the few people in Camelot not keeping secrets these days. 

Without thinking about it, Leon glanced up at the palace windows, expecting to see Gwen at one of them, bidding the king goodbye. She was always present--and Leon imagined she’d probably whispered a plethora of reassurances, support and adorations while sharing a bed with the king last night, if not this morning too. 

Yes, there she was, standing with Gaius and looking concerned and tearful. Had she even spoken to her brother, Elyan, before he left for war? He wondered at how the brother and sister interacted....he’d seen them actually speaking to each other only a handful of times in nearly two years. Leon supposed she was so caught up with being available to the king that she wouldn’t have much time to nurture a relationship with her brother. 

He never understood those who had siblings and didn’t appreciate them. He’d always longed for a brother and even would have gladly settled for a sister. A brother would have had his loyalty and friendship their entire lives, and he would have devoted himself to protecting and adoring a sister...

Leon’s woolgathering was abruptly halted when Arthur and Agravaine mounted their horses directly in front of him, and Arthur made the “Move out!” signal. They were just on schedule.

It had finally begun.

 

~~~~~~~~

Once again, they heard Caerleon’s army before they saw it. 

It was the sight that stunned Camelot’s army into silence.

Either the scout had been wrong, or Caerleon had gathered forces from outposts Camelot had had no knowledge of. That was NOT six thousand men. It was more like twenty thousand. Camelot was vastly outnumbered. 

It was an awe-inspiring, terrible sight.

To their advantage, Camelot did manage to claim the high ridge. They arrived with only an hour or so of daylight left, an hour to set up camp and then wait to commence the battle and start killing each other at sunrise like civilized people.

Leon saw Arthur standing alone on one of the outcropping of rocks, staring down at their foes. The strategist in Leon wanted to shout at the king not to offer such a target to such a dishonorable enemy, to get out of sight. Was he trying to get himself killed, and leave Camelot with no king, no heir to the throne? It would only take one stray arrow, one overly-excited squire, one drunk guard to blow the lid off their last night of peace. 

Leon wanted to go to his king, to remind him that they were all behind him and that they could win this war, they would win this war. 

It wasn’t his place. He was a knight. Arthur was king. Leon would respect his privacy and his pride. 

But he still wished Arthur wouldn’t keep standing there in the open.

Agravaine joined Arthur on the ridge, and Leon assumed he would urge his nephew out of sight in paternal concern for his safety, but--they exchanged a few quick words, and Agravaine left again. The king’s uncle didn’t seem particularly anxious or worried. When Agravaine passed Leon, he told Leon casually, “See to it that the men are provided for” and then ordered his servant to attend him in his tent.

Leon was about to go to the king and ask him to please join the rest of their forces, make up any excuse to bring him away and get him out of sight, anything, when Merlin hurried past him and to the king’s side. They exchanged a few quick words, and Leon saw Arthur roll his eyes at something Merlin said. 

Arthur strode past Leon on the way to his tent, Merlin by his side. As they past, Leon heard Arthur speaking:

“Merlin, tell me you didn’t put the tent up lopsided again...”

~~~~~~

Nightfall. The fires were lit, and the men not on watch were gathered in small groups. Morale was high, Leon noted with some relief--he heard singing from some corners, occasional laughter.

Merlin had prepared the interior of the king’s tent for him, brought him food. 

Arthur remained distant and aloof, staying inside his tent, not speaking to anyone at all. Judging by Merlin’s rather subdued mood when he emerged from the royal tent, Leon guessed that included Merlin too. 

It was very kingly behavior...it just wasn’t very Arthur-like.

Merlin seemed to accept it though and set about getting a bowl of stew for himself. He joined Elyan, Percival and Gwaine just outside Arthur’s tent.

Leon watched for a few moments. None of the food was making it to Merlin’s mouth. Eventually, Merlin put the bowl down between his feet and toyed with a stick he’d found.

Leon grabbed a tankard of watered-down wine--very watered--and joined the group, ruffling Merlin’s hair when he sat down. That at least elicited a bit of a self-conscious laugh from Merlin. Percival and Elyan clanked their own tankards together in a toast to Camelot, and chuckled a bit. Gwaine, sitting directly across from Merlin on the other side of the fire, just smiled at them all. Merlin smiled back, still a bit awkward, but at least he was accepting the message of friendship and camaraderie.

It took Leon a moment to realise that they’d lost Merlin’s focus. The king’s manservant wasn’t looking at any of them or paying attention to their little gathering any more. 

His eyes were locked on Arthur, who was standing in the entrance to his tent. Arthur was staring at Merlin with the most openly yearning look Leon had ever seen. 

Leon did not ever look at his own servant or his squire that way. He couldn’t remember a lover he’d ever sent that look to with that intensity.

Wait a minute...a lover?

Arthur didn’t ever look at Gwen like that. Not in Leon’s presence, and not even when he’d unexpectedly interrupted them in front of one of the palace windows...

Was Arthur double-dipping his wick with both Merlin and Gwen? It wasn’t the first time Leon had wondered about Arthur and Merlin.

Leon registered Gwaine twisting around to look back at Arthur, and the moment seemed to be broken for everyone. Arthur’s expression changed from longing to melancholy. He looked...regretful and as if he’d suddenly realized that he’d exposed too much of himself. 

Arthur hadn’t been looking at the lot of them. He’d been looking at Merlin.

Arthur raised his chin, and the royal mask slipped back into place. “I think we should all get some sleep.” And he retreated back into the privacy of his tent.

No one said anything for a long moment, and then Gwaine asked Merlin wryly, “S’he alright?”

“He’s our king”, Merlin said quietly. “If anything were to happen to any of us, he’ll hold himself responsible”.

Ah, Merlin. Leon wondered again what he’d pondered so many times before: How did a farmboy from a tiny, far-away village happen to come by so much perception into the heart and soul of one blue-blooded man?

Maybe they were lovers, maybe not. After what he’d just witnessed, though--Leon would have a harder time believing in “not”.  
~~~~~~~~~

Merlin left a few minutes later to tend to the king. When Elyan was sure Merlin was out of hearing range, he whispered hoarsely, “Are we sure he’s okay?”

Gwaine waved a hand. “He’s just concerned about Arthur, that’s all. He’s tougher than you think.”

“Not Merlin, you dolt. Arthur.”

Leon could only barely suppress a chuckle.

Elyan said, “I think we should go talk to him, just remind him that we’re all behind him and support him.”

“You don’t think he knows that?”, Percival whispered. 

“It wouldn’t hurt for him to hear it again.”

“I think”, Leon interjected, “We should allow the king his privacy and his rest. It isn’t right to impose on him now, when he has so much on his mind. What could we possibly say, anyway?”

“I’ll do the talking”, Elyan said. “It is one thing to know something, and another to feel it, after all.”

“Another one bringing the poetry”, Gwaine muttered.

“Shut it, Gwaine. Are we all in accord, then? We need to all go in together...”

Leon agreed with the sentiment--reaffirming their support of Arthur--but had serious misgivings about disturbing the king now. Part of respecting the king meant granting him his privacy, after all, not embarrassing him when he no doubt had a thousand things to think about...

It was odd though--the eve of this battle, and Arthur had yet to call anyone to his tent for a strategy session.   
That just meant he’d probably worked out and discussed everything with Agravaine already--Arthur was a brilliant strategist-- and would inform them all just before the engagement tomorrow, but--

These weren’t the way these things were done. 

Leon would go to Arthur with the other other knights, if only to measure the king’s mood. 

~~~~~~~

When they entered the king’s tent a few moments later, Merlin was cleaning and checking Arthur’s chainmail. He looked at them curiously, but said nothing. The site of the king’s brooding, pensive look, fist pressed to his mouth, made Leon want to apologize and do an about face, but Elyan pressed on.

Just when had Gwen’s brother declared himself herald, orator and messenger, anyway?

“Elyan?” Arthur queried, looking up at them all, seeming to rouse himself from whatever place of self-recrimination his thoughts had taken him.

Elyan hesitated for a moment, and all of the knights looked at each other. They’d all seen him too, had sensed Arthur’s mood when they’d come in. Still, Elyan pressed on, acknowledging the king with a quiet “Sire.”

This is a mistake, Leon thought. I should have followed my instincts...

Behind them, Leon sensed that Merlin had paused in his work and turned toward their group.

Arthur’s eyes flitted over all of them, expectant, perhaps even a bit wary. “Well?” 

“We just want you to know...there isn’t a man among us who would not die for you.” And now Elyan’s higher pitched, melodious voice deepened, became something more, a voice rich with conviction. The voice of a nobleman. 

“We’ve made our pledge, and we wear the Pendragon crest with pride. Tomorrow...we fight in your name, sire--for freedom and justice in this land.”

Not original words, not really, but--Where in the hell had a blacksmith learned to express himself that way, in terms so simple and sincere and elegant, to speak for the hearts of all the men Arthur commanded? Leon knew that he himself couldn’t speak with such eloquence. 

Arthur too seemed quite moved and a bit at a loss for words. He nodded once, acknowledging them all again. 

“Thank you, Elyan. Thank you all.”

Gwaine, Percival and Elayn all bowed as one. Leon waited until the three of them were retreating silently from the tent before he met the king’s eyes and bowed himself. He just hoped his expression conveyed to the king what words could not. Leon didn’t look at Merlin when he passed him on the way out. 

But he did pause just outside the tent doorway, and heard confirmation of all his fears for the king of Camelot:

“They mean it, Sire. Every word.” Merlin, earnest and loyal as ever. He sounded as though he might be smiling a little, in an almost chiding, “I told you so” kind of way.

“I’ve never once questioned their loyalty.” Arthur’s voice was very quiet, weary, but otherwise devoid of emotion.   
“I do wonder if I deserve it.”

Oh no, no, no, Arthur. Oh, this wasn’t good at all...

“No one could care more for their men than you do.” And now Merlin sounded incredulous, as if Arthur had just uttered complete gibberish, which wasn’t far from the truth. “To send them into battle is not a decision you’d make lightly. They know that.”

Except--Arthur hadn’t really made the decision, had he. Caerleon’s queen had made it for him, and before that, Agravaine.

Leon almost turned around and went back inside. Merlin was just going to make things worse--

“But was it the right decision?”

“If there was any other way out of this situation, you’d take it. But--you must defend Camelot, you have no choice.”

Shut up, Merlin, shut up...this isn’t the way to speak to the king--you’re just going to make him feel more guilty.

Leon froze, half ducked down to re-enter the tent when he heard Arthur’s response. 

“I had a choice...to let Caerleon live or die. I made the wrong decision. And now I’ve brought this war upon Camelot myself.”

Leon couldn’t believe what he was hearing--that a king would speak so freely, so openly with his servant, would admit a deadly error and that he did not hold the conviction in the rightness of the impending war that he needed, that they all needed, to survive to see victory. 

It was chilling. 

“Arthur, no one else is prepared to sacrifice more for the sake of this kingdom than you. Your decision was made in the best interests of Camelot.” Merlin’s voice was low, deliberate, intense.

Merlin didn’t really believe that, Leon knew--he’d seen his face when Arthur made the decision to go through with slaying Caerleon’s king. Merlin had known it was wrong, that Arthur was wrong. And Arthur had known he’d known. Merlin had been the only one to try to persuade him otherwise.

“Maybe. But now my men must pay for it with their lives.”

That’s what king’s armies do, Leon wanted to shout. To have such second thoughts and guilt now...

It was too much. Leon had to put a stop to this line of thought now--while he still might be able to.

He went back inside the tent, noted that Merlin was now seated across from Arthur like an equal. 

“Forgive me, Sire, but would you allow a meeting of strategy now?” Leon glanced at Merlin and glared hard enough that Merlin stood and retreated back to the chainmail he’d been working on.

“No, Sir Leon”, and Arthur wasn’t even looking at him. He was leaning his head back against the high back of his chair, a picture of despondent exhaustion. “There are still some details I’ve yet to work through. I will send for you when I am ready.”

Leon recognized a dismissal when he heard one, but he felt desperate and worried enough to try to get through to Arthur one more time. “Of course, Majesty. I just wanted to report, also, that the men are prepared and indeed quite anxious to begin to defend Camelot’s lands from the outrage of Caerleon’s thefts and trespassing. We all wish to reclaim what is ours.”

Arthur met Leon’s eyes very briefly and then nodded slowly. “Thank you.” And the king returned to his brooding.

Of course, Gwaine, Percival and Elyan were waiting for him as soon as Leon exited the tent. “Is he alright?”, Percival whisper-shouted, right in front of the entrance to the king’s tent and loud enough to be heard by the enemy below the ridge.

Irritated and annoyed with Percival, at Elyan, and at Merlin, all for their big mouths that tried to help but only made things worse, and at for Arthur for his lack of confidence, and at Gwaine too, for a whole host of things, Leon only snapped, “Quiet! Take your rest while you can and allow the king to rest too. There’s nothing further we can do.” And he stalked off, leaving his fellow knights looking surprised and a bit wounded, but none the wiser to Arthur’s true state of mind. 

~~~~~~~

Leon surprised himself again when he actually fell into a light doze. It was rare for him to sleep when he was this wound up, before a major campaign. Then again, as he kept reminding himself and everyone around him, these opponents were only men--Camelot had faced much worse and come out on the other side.

He was startled out of semi-sleep by the sound of someone falling and a muffled “Oomf!” very near him. 

Leon would recognize that “oomf” anywhere: Merlin. He must have tripped and fallen into the tent, probably getting up to pee again, barmpot that he was. Wearily, Leon raised his head slightly and was just able to distinguish Merlin’s gangly form and black hair in the dwindling firelight as he struggled out of the folds of the now-sagging tent. 

Leon shook his head and just hoped Merlin would settle down and be quiet again soon.  
~~~~~~~~

Merlin hadn’t gotten up to pee after all--he’d followed the king, in his usual blind loyalty and concern, right into the heart of their enemy’s camp, straight to their queen, Annis--and had been caught stupidly eavesdropping, nearly getting them both killed.

There would be no battle at first light. Arthur had summoned all of the knights that had been present when he’d executed Caerleon’s king to tell them he’d invoked the right of single combat. Miraculously, the queen had accepted--the terms being she’d pull her people from all of the land stolen from Camelot if their champion should win,  
or, heavens forbid, Caerleon being granted half of all of Camelot if her champion should prevail.

Leon wanted to scream and pull out his own hair in frustration and outrage at it all. How could Arthur even think this was a good thing? The risk he’d taken by showing his face to the queen...well, it may have been brave and self-sacrificing on Arthur’s part, but it was also incredibly fool-hardy, impetuous and reckless. It wasn’t a noble or selfless gesture--it was Arthur trying to assuage his guilt over his decision to execute Caerleon. 

Arthur merely said he had no doubt that Camelot could win, but that his way would save much bloodshed. 

As he had done so many times before, Leon fought to keep his expression neutral.

Elyan pleaded, “And what if we were to lose this trial? We can’t give up our land!” Elyan had been unusually outspoken in recent days. 

Leon happened to notice Agravaine watching the exchange avidly, silent to this point. He wanted to shout at the older man to dissuade the king, to do something, anything, to stop this madness. But Agravaine just remained an observer, head tilted slightly, an assessing, interested look on his countenance. Unreadable, as always.

“That’s the deal I’ve struck”, Arthur responded to Elyan and reminding everyone in the tent who was in charge here, by effectively striking down all further discussion. “I believed it to be fair and I’ll stand by it.”

Gods, Arthur, what have you done...

Leon was suddenly and stabbingly, painfully reminded of his father’s words to Leon while on his deathbed regarding Uther: 

“He isn’t always right, but he is always the king.”

Agravaine finally spoke, not to try to sway the king’s mind, but to ask whom he would choose as his champion.   
Everyone in the tent moved a step forward, declaring themselves the most obvious choice and that it would be an honor to fight for the king and Camelot.

Leon knew what Arthur was going to say even before he drew breath to say it:

“There can only be one choice. One choice which is just and honorable. This fight’s mine.”

Apparently, Arthur had forgotten that had no heirs--if he were to die, Camelot’s crown would be passed to Agravaine. Arthur may be a fine warrior, one of the best Leon had ever seen, but he was still flesh and blood and bone. He could still bleed and still die--he wasn’t invincible, and all it took was one stumble, one untimed swing, one dishonorable move from his opponent.

How could he ever, ever think offering himself like this to be good for Camelot?

Leon happened to twist away for a moment, feeling so outraged and incredulous that he might crawl out of his skin if he didn’t just move somehow, and he caught sight of Merlin, at the back of the gathering. Merlin’s face was white, his jaw clenched, his posture one that he did not usually strike--arms crossed over his chest--staring, glaring, at the king, radiating anger and intensity and worry. Merlin didn’t appear surprised, but he did look as appalled as everyone else.

Everyone but Agravaine, it seemed. He merely smiled slightly at his nephew, and then bade everyone leave so that Camelot’s champion could prepare for his glorious victory come noon.

Leon didn’t miss Gwaine’s muttered “Oily old fart” as they departed the tent, in reference to the man in line for the crown if Arthur should fail.

~~~~~~~  
Honestly, how long did it take to dress the king and get him ready for combat? It seemed like Merlin had been in there with Arthur for hours. 

Leon was standing just outside the entrance to the tent once more, ostensibly acting as guard and sentry. It was almost silent within, though Leon strained to hear anything. There were a few low murmurs between master and servant, but Leon couldn’t make out the words and had no clue as to whether the king was confident, resigned, or trying to reassure his undoubtedly nervous manservant.

It appeared that Leon wasn’t the only one wanting to move things along either--Agravaine walked by purposefully, shooting a Leon a rather foul look before entering the royal tent. 

Leon bowed when Arthur emerged just a moment later, sword in hand. All of the men had formed a double line for Arthur to walk through to the agreed place of battle, and they all bowed to the king. Agravaine followed closely behind. 

Merlin emerged last, looking somewhat sick and shaky. Gwaine walked with his arm around Merlin’s shoulders all the way to their vantage point of the battle.

~~~~~~~

Seriously? Was that...whatever it was, even a human, or some sort of mutant ogre? They grew them big, hairy, and ugly in Caerleon, apparently. Leon had never seen a man the size of a tree before, and he lived and worked beside Percival every day. 

Arthur himself seem to be a bit wryly dubious about this enormous opponent too, especially when he--it--whatever--bared his teeth at the king in a snarling, rumbling growl. Leon had heard more pleasants sounds from boars he’d killed.

The bigger they were, the harder they fell...it was what they taught the younger knights and squires of Camelot every single day.

Leon only hoped Arthur would be able to dispatch him quickly. The giant was so ugly, it was unnerving.

Arthur made the first strike, but the gigantic Caerleon champion proved to be surprisingly agile and quick on his feet.   
They were fighting on uneven terrain, and the first few moments proved to be just the two of them finding their footing. Arthur gracefully moved around his opponent, striking and counter-striking skillfully, his face a mask of concentration and effort. The sharp clangs of their blades and the mutant’s animalistic grunts and roars were the only sounds, despite the multitudes gathered to watch.

Leon wasn’t granted his wish for a fast conclusion. The battle seemed to go on forever without either scoring a hit. Leon could tell that Arthur was tiring--signs that only someone who’d known Arthur most of his life would recognize--and then Leon and the other knights near him gasped when Arthur reeled from a sharp blow to his jaw.

Oh, gods...

No. Arthur crouched, pivoted, and struck, in a brilliant move that drew blood from the bigger fighter. He hadn’t even seen that coming, hadn’t tried to move out of the way.

The blood angered the big brainless thing, and he roared again, chasing Arthur and swinging wildly at him. Arthur continued to stay out of his reach. Good, good, Arthur, that’s it--tire him out if you can...

Arthur raised his sword, perfectly positioned to land another strike, and then--- suddenly, Arthur was on his knees, the blade in his hand seemingly bolted to the ground.

Leon had no idea what was going on, but it didn’t take a genius to recognize the turn in the tide--especially Arthur’s yell of pain when another blow landed, and the mad one’s leering look of pleasure and anticipation. Arthur seemed to be fighting to pick up his sword, and the ogre was moving in for the kill...on a now unarmed king.

Arthur surprised them all again by throwing a shoulder block, hard enough to dislocate his shoulder by the looks of it, but also enough to throw Dirty Longshanks off balance and to get out of his direct line of striking range. Leon glanced at Merlin then, standing beside him silently, dirty and trembling and a bit damp-eyed, but also, somehow, quietly satisfied whenever Arthur made a successful move or landed another blow.

But then Arthur was kicked, and kicked again, and even from this distance, Leon and his men could hear the force of it, and Arthur’s grunts of agony. That had to be at least a couple of broken ribs...

Arthur was still on the ground, stunned and writhing, still trying to get to the other man’s sword from half under him, when the berserker rose to his full height to tower over him and bared his teeth wolfishly. 

No...this couldn’t end like this--

Later, when Leon returned to Camelot and resumed training, he was going to point out to his younger charges that being quick and smart and strategizing were always huge factors in victory, and not just brute strength. Also, it always helped one greatly not to drop one’s sword behind their own back just as they might be about to deal a death blow. 

That was dumbest, stupidest, most incompetent move Leon had ever witnessed, but Leon wasn’t complaining about such an unbelievable fluke, not one little bit. It gave Arthur the moment he needed to rush behind him--the brainless thing was probably still confusedly trying to work out what had just happened too--and to deal a crippling blow that knocked the towering one to his knees. Arthur’s foot kicked out, finally flattening him, and he raised his sword for the final strike..

It was never delivered. He turned, sought out Merlin’s eyes--Merlin!--and they exchanged yet another long, silent intimate conversation, the same kind of look Leon had witnessed the night before at their campfire--and then Arthur planted the sword in the ground, nobly granting his foe merciful quarter. 

It was over. Arthur--and Camelot--had won. 

The Camelot cheers erupted before Leon could draw his next breath. He felt near-fainting as he too applauded his king. Behind him, Gwaine clapped him on the back. Elyan roughly hugged Merlin’s shoulders (Merlin still seemed a bit in shock, the only one not making any noise), and Percival started up the chant of “Long live the king!”

Agravaine looked like he’d just bitten into rotten fruit, at least until he noticed Leon watching him--- and then he began clapping too.

Now that, that look, Leon knew, he’d be wondering about all the way home.

~~~~~~~

Merlin wanted to start fussing over the king right away of course--muttering about ribs and shoulders and all--but Leon ordered him to wait while Arthur parlayed with the queen. If Annis stayed true to her word, Camelot had just gained a huge advantage in more ways than just land--but Arthur must be granted his pride and his dignity especially before her, hurt or not. Merlin was just going to have to be patient.

Eventually, Arthur did return, and everyone wanted to speak with him, congratulate him. The king looked thrashed and exhausted, though, and Merlin’s expression became pinched and tight-lipped. Rather than order the men away, though, Leon sent Percival, Gwaine and Elyan a look, and they managed to surround the king and herd him to his tent sooner than expected.

Leon stayed with the king while Merlin bound his ribs--yes, probably broken, and weren’t they going to be hell to ride with--and popped his shoulder back into place (how had such a slight frame as Merlin’s managed that, and even accomplished it when Arthur wasn’t expecting it...) and cleaned and dressed all of his minor wounds. And then Merlin gave the king a sleeping potion that would probably have him out until morning.

Remarkable, that--Merlin had just taken over completely, had told their proud king what to do, and Arthur had gone along with it all (though not wholly without insulting and mocking Merlin here and there.)

Merlin seemed to be learning quite a bit from Gaius.

~~~~~~  
Leon was just grateful for sunrise, for it meant they would be home again in Camelot by tomorrow. They weren’t in any rush now, but Leon always felt the call of home most strongly after a particularly rough or intense engagement. 

They were nearly ready to leave, their lines formed and the king on his horse at the head of the column, though he was a bit hunched. Those ribs were going to give him trouble for a good while, it looked like. Agravaine was seated beside Arthur on his own horse, still looking rather sour and foul. Leon had no idea why.

Agravaine looked even more put out when Arthur called Merlin up to ride beside him. Leon heard Gwaine chuckling quietly and had to fight his own smirk. 

Things were back to normal, or at least what passed for normal for those living in Camelot.

~~~~~~

They’d been riding only two hours when Arthur called for a stop to rest the horses. Leon had a good idea it wasn’t to rest the horses, but he didn’t share his opinion. He did, however, discreetly and privately help Merlin help the king off his own horse. 

Leon walked down the line, checking on everyone, making sure all was going well and they didn’t have any lame horses or broken wheels. They had left Camelot with a huge amount of resources that they hadn’t needed--now the challenge was to return the same home, in working order. 

So far, so good.

He walked back up the line, speaking quickly and quietly to a few, reminding everyone not to get too comfortable. 

What was Merlin doing? 

Leon saw no sign of Arthur, but Merlin seemed to be bending over and picking up...something from the side of the road.

Leon walked a little closer, squinting in the bright sun.

Oh. Merlin had found some small purple flowers, albeit rather scraggly and forlorn looking, and was adding to the fistful he already held.

“What’s this, Merlin? You’ve been holding out on us? What’s the lucky girl’s name? Or are those for Gaius?”  
Percival and Elyan both hooted, looking at Merlin expectantly. Gwaine just raised an eyebrow.

Merlin smiled, not the full-faced, inane one that made him look like a deranged simpleton, but his quiet, accepting smile. “Oh, these aren’t for me. Arthur asked me to pick some for him, for him to give to Gwen.”

For Gwen. The king’s mistress. Leon was still trying to wrap his head around that, that those two, seemingly so passionlessly polite with each other in the light of day, were engaging in midnight trysts. Leon would not have believed them that interested in sex with each other--Arthur instead seemed to rely upon her for stoking his confidence in himself, for she always seemed to have words of reassurance--platitudes-- ready for him. 

He couldn’t blame Gwen for taking what she could, though--she wasn’t just anyone’s mistress, she was the king’s mistress. 

On the other hand--there were times when Arthur looked at his manservant like he wanted to eat him up, and then had him picking flowers for his mistress. 

Right. Very nice. Well done...and not Leon’s business.

Leon practiced his usual trick of keeping his face neutral, and said only, “Ah. Of course. Carry on, then”. 

Ten minutes later, the same unimpressive flowers were tucked in Arthur’s saddlebag and Leon was helping the king back on his horse.

~~~~~~~

Ah, home at last. No matter how many times he saw it, the sight of the shining white castle of Camelot never failed to perk up Leon, even when he was exhausted, dusty, and hungry. 

They rode into the city to a boisterous welcome. Merlin called the king a “hero” and a “cabbage-head” in the same breath.

All he could think about right now was getting a bath, dinner, and then sleeping in his own bed. They were all granted liberty until tomorrow morning, and Leon fully expected to take full advantage, maybe even indulge in a rare lie-in...

His servant had barely left to fetch his dinner and warm water for a bath when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find one of the palace messengers with a note from the council:

Leon’s cousin Henrik had been slain at Gedreff. 

~~~~~~~~

What could he do? There was nothing Leon could do...Leon would not even be able to attend any type of funeral or memorial for his kinsman: Henrik would have been buried at the Gedreff outpost. 

 

He had not known Henrik well, and as such felt more sorrow for not having taken the time to get to know him than real grief at his passing.He felt the same respectful regret he always felt whenever hearing word of a lost comrade, and sympathy for what he knew his aunt must be going through, losing her only son in this world. She must be devastated. 

And that, of course, lead him to his next thought: Leon knew he would have to marry within the year, and sooner rather than later. He was the last of his line, and there was no getting around it if his house was to survive. No doubt his mother was already at work, locating a suitable match, making arrangements. 

It would be considered quite gauche to transfer Sir Henrik’s intended, Lady Esa, to himself. That wouldn’t even be considered at all. Another match would be found for her, and her dowry rescinded. Leon was just glad that others would be taking care of all the details and protocols involved in these matters. It was beyond his ken, so much of it seeming like fussy nonsense. Best leave it all to women.

Leon had arrived at the palace feeling completely knackered. Now, though, now he felt beyond exhausted, completely drained, and at the same time, with the jumble of excitement and sadness and empathy, anticipation and trepidation and anxiety, he knew he’d never be able to sleep at all tonight.

Wearily, he sat down at his writing desk and gathered parchment, ink, and quill. Time to start writing letters to his remaining family...

~~~~~~~~

Leon had said nothing to the king about his family matters, and yet somehow, Arthur found out. He’d offered Leon leave if he needed it, and then solemnly swore to Leon that his cousin’s death would not be in vain. Arthur promised Leon that the ancestral lands of Gedreff would be defended and won back for once and for all, for Camelot and her people. 

Leon had bowed and thanked the king quietly, more humbled and grateful by the king’s words than anything that might be uttered in sympathy and then quickly forgotten again. Leon also politely declined Arthur’s offer of time away; reports of outbreaks of skirmishes and bandit attacks from the lower towns outwards were reaching a fever pitch, and Leon knew he was needed in Camelot and on duty for the time being. He would go home to his estate and family when things settled down a bit, when the king was fully recovered from his battle injuries at Caerleon. Perhaps when Leon did return next, it would be as a married man.

~~~~~~~~

King Arthur would never, ever be a sedate king, content to let others carry out his orders and decrees while he sat his royal bottom on his throne and gnawed on thick turkey bones; no, that wasn’t Arthur at all. He could have sent his uncle the regent in his stead while he guarded the sovereignty, but-- no. He wasn’t long healed now, but here he was, accompanying Leon and the knights, Merlin at his side as always, on yet another patrol, in bandit-infested woodlands. 

Also as usual, Leon held his tongue on just how needlessly risky he thought that decision was. Merlin, as was his wont, had no such compunctions. He hadn’t let up since they’d passed through the citadel’s gates, pestering Arthur about the wisdom of this route.

As a general rule, Leon didn’t put much stock in “feelings” as to what was best or safest or most prudent--particularly not Merlin’s feelings--but if pressed, he would have to admit that the forest they were presently traveling through had an ‘off” feeling about it--no birdsong, and an unnaturally close, humid sensation.

They were instinctively hurrying now, all of them...

Arthur informed them they would take a shortcut, through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, in order to return to Camelot before nightfall.

Here it comes, Leon thought. 

It came.

“Arthur, you are not serious...”

“What else do you have in mind?”

“Anything! Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. No one in their right mind would go in there.”

Percival chuckled.

Leon just scanned the ridges above them, his apprehension increasing. Had he just seen something move?

Arthur was being uncharacteristically flip and cavalier. “Exactly. The route’s a secret, Merlin. That’s why we chose it.”

Yes, Leon could swear he saw a figure above, where no one should be. He opened his mouth to yell a warning to the king--

Leon wasn’t even sure if he managed to yell before the attack. There was a lot of yelling as thirty or more men descended upon them from everywhere. They’d probably even been hiding in the trees, like black-clad, honorless vultures...

Leon knew Merlin must have said something cheeky to the king, because in the next moment Arthur was slipping out of his cloak and telling Merlin not to get cocky. And then Arthur was drawing his sword and getting to work, and Leon had no idea where Merlin had gotten to.

~~~~~~

“Leon. Hey, Leon. C’mon, big guy, open your eyes, let’s see those baby blues...”

Somebody was poking him, and it was one of the most irritating things Leon could think of, especially seeing as how Leon had a rather massive headache. He swatted weakly at the offending hand on his shoulder. “Let me be”, he ordered. 

Not a good idea. Talking seemed to make his head feel worse...so did moving, swallowing, breathing...

“Hey, he’s awake, boys!” Oh, that was bloody Gwaine making all that noise. He was going to kill him, soon as he could move without agony.

“Shut up, Gwaine”, he muttered, and forced himself to open his eyes. Maybe if he glared hard enough, Gwaine would see that he really meant it--

But when he did open his eyes, Leon saw all the knights clustered around him, and all were wearing vastly relieved looks. Even Gwaine.

“That is definitely an improvement”, Gwaine murmured.

“I beg to differ”, Leon said as his memory started to flood back. Patrol, and a surprise attack...

He sat up so abruptly that his stomach flip flopped and he thought he’d puke. “Where’s the king?”

Everyone looked at each other, and Leon knew, he knew what the answer was before anyone said anything:

“We have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Between the bits and pieces the four of them were able to cobble together--they’d all been otherwise engaged during the battle, and no one had the full story--Merlin had taken a hit that knocked him to the ground, Arthur had gone to him and gotten him away, and several bandits were dead. (And Leon was already having severe doubts about them being “bandits”, per se--there were too many of them, and their attack was too well planned and executed. They’d managed to ambush knights of Camelot, and that didn’t happen every day. They were more probably mercenaries, hired by any number of a dozen enemies of Camelot.) While Leon had been taking his siesta--out cold after having met the pommel of one of the marauders with his cranium--the other knights had found each other as well as three horses, including the king’s, but Elyan’s, Gwaine’s and Merlin’s mounts were all still missing. 

And both Merlin and the king were nowhere in sight. The knights had been looking, in ever widening circles, but hadn’t found any trace of them. And nightfall was fast approaching. And the forest was filled with these bandits or mercenaries or whatever they were...still looking for all of them and more than happy to bash in Leon’s skull, and everyone else’s, once again.

It was nearly dark when Leon called a halt to their tromping through the trees, trying to stay hidden while looking for their friends. It was becoming very obvious they weren’t going to find them tonight. 

And--no one knew where they were, so the chances of a Camelot rescue party showing up within the next month wasn’t looking good either.

Predictably, Gwaine argued. “They couldn’t have gotten far! Merlin was injured--we have to keep looking!”

“Use your head, Gwaine. This isn’t making me happy either--”

Gwaine looked like he was about to continue arguing, but then they heard sounds of men nearby, men running, and they knew they weren’t Arthur or Merlin. Gwaine abruptly subsided (Leon and his aching head would thank him later). 

Elyan hid the horses and the four men spent the night huddled miserably together under an overhanging rock formation. Their only consolation: it wasn’t that cold and Percival threw enough body heat for all of them, even without a fire.

~~~~~~~~

Sometime during the night, Merlin’s little mare wandered back to them, and they found her that morning, untethered and still saddled, with the other horses where they’d hidden them. That wasn’t a good sign--Merlin loved that horse, (a gift from Arthur a year or so ago), and she returned the favor--would even go to Merlin when he called her, like a favored hound. If she’d abandoned her master, then things around Merlin, and by extension, the king, had to have been very hairy indeed.

On the other hand, four horses for four men. There was no time for breakfast (even if they had had any food, which they didn’t), so they were all mounted and moving with the barely-dawn sky still rosy-pink. 

It was slow going. Not only were they trying to stay off the roads and stay hidden, two of them were dealing with two horses that wanted no part of them. Leon had handed over the reigns to his own mount to Gwaine, not trusting anyone but himself with Arthur’s ill-tempered, irritable stallion, and the beast was letting him know, in no uncertain terms, just how perturbed he was about it all. Elyan was on Merlin’s mare, but she was accustomed to Merlin’s featherweight, not Elyan’s compact muscle, and she was skittish and afraid. The horses both wanted their own masters and were moody and uncooperative.

Leon ordered everyone to a halt not an hour into their search--they could rest their unwilling mounts and gather some berries or tubers, get water from a nearby stream. 

They all heard it at the same time, a loud snap of a twig from very nearby. Unmistakeable. There was a man somewhere in the vicinity, very close...probably seeking out water too. 

Leon and the other knights froze, instantly in razor sharp battle mode. They couldn’t know if that was friend or foe. At a signal, they moved as one toward the sound, swords drawn and ready. 

Yes...Leon could just make out the form of someone on the other side of a thick tree. He gestured silently to Percival and Elyan to flank their unknown prey, had Gwaine at his own back, and made his move.

Leon had to admit, there were rare occasions when he forgot just how quick and skilled Arthur was. Arthur had somehow moved behind him, blocked his swing and enveloped his blade, forced it harmlessly toward the ground. It was almost shocking--and Leon was certainly no amateur himself. He couldn’t help grinning at the king.

“Nice to see you too”, Arthur said sarcastically. 

Leon stopped grinning. Arthur was pale, filthy, breathless, knackered-looking and obviously upset...and missing his ever-present shadow.

Oh no...

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwaine asked sharply, and Leon darted a disapproving glare at him. He hadn’t even said hello...

Arthur shook his head slightly, and answered on a breathed-out sigh, “I don’t know--”

“You left him out here, alone?” Gwaine was outraged, angry--and as usual, out of line.

“Hold your tongue!”, Leon snapped. 

Arthur held up a hand to still them all. “I am honored by your faith in me, Sir Gwaine”, he said very dryly, wearily. “Merlin was injured, but I managed to get the bleeding staunched during the night. The mercenaries found us this morning and Merlin and I were separated by a rockfall. And now that we are all reunited, we can continue to search--”

“Sire”, Leon interrupted, very quietly, intensely. Arthur had to listen to him in this. “We must return to Camelot and get reinforcements. We have no food or supplies, we have lost two horses and the woods are filled with those willing to do anything for the price your death would fetch. You are the king, you cannot risk your life--”

“I’ll stay and look for Merlin”, Gwaine interrupted. 

“And I”, Percival said. Elyan said nothing, but inclined his head, showing his intent also.

“Perfect. And then we can send out another search party when you go missing too. Sire! We must withdraw, for now--”

“Merlin could die while we go back and forth to Camelot and here!”, Gwaine shouted. “Arthur, we--

Elyan’s horse suddenly wandered into view, not twenty feet away, and that was so startling that even Gwaine stilled for a moment. What were they going to find next--dogs and cats? Someone’s pet parakeet? 

Everything but the king’s manservant, it seemed.

~~~~~

Leon miraculously managed to get everyone heading in the direction of Camelot.

Somehow Leon managed to convince Arthur of the wisdom of what Leon asserted, but his expression was gutted, reminding Leon of how he’d looked when Merlin had been dying from the Durocha attack some months ago. 

It still amazed Leon, even after all this time, that Arthur would so selfishly risk the loss of his life and line for one man. He knew Arthur was fond of Merlin, but Merlin was a servant, not royalty. Why couldn’t Arthur see that a king without heirs put his kingdom and people into great peril whenever he took these kinds of risks...?

Behind him, now riding Merlin’s reluctant horse, Gwaine seethed, silently radiating anger and worry the entire journey back.

~~~~~~~~

“Where’s Merlin?!” Gaius demanded, eyebrows clinging to his now-non-existent hair line. It wasn’t a request--the old physician was scowling and didn’t look diffident towards the king or anyone else, or inclined to mince words at all.

Arthur had just gone another round with Leon about returning to the woods with a hastily-organized search party. Leon was fairly certain that if not for Agravaine’s wise intervention, Arthur would have already ridden back out after Merlin...

Of course, Agravaine hadn’t looked terribly pleased when Arthur had entrusted finding Merlin to him, Leon had noticed.

Now, though--Gaius was waiting for an answer, and Arthur moved forward, obviously trying to appease and pacify Merlin’s guardian. “He’s alive”, Arthur said. “Last I saw of him, he was still alive.”

Arthur still sounded breathless, probably due to exhaustion. Gaius didn’t look reassured in the slightest.

Leon bowed and left the counsel room then to join Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Agravaine in searching for Arthur’s servant. He never did hear what Gaius’ response to Arthur was.

~~~~~~~

Agravaine complained the entire time. 

Well, that wasn’t quite fair, really. Arthur’s uncle lamented the king’s lack of awareness at what a grave, unnecessary, inappropriate risk it was to continually take part in reckless missions such as the one he’d just returned from. Agravaine expressed his regret at the waste of resources in searching for a peasant, not that he had anything against the dear boy, of course--he knew he was quite loyal to Arthur, despite his myriad of failings and his less than stellar performance as manservant to the king. He also said he understood and applauded Arthur’s unusual involvement with those of the lesser class, but that were times when decorum dictated otherwise. And then he sighed and allowed that Arthur was young and idealistic and just needed some time to realize the weight of his position, and that Agravaine was very glad he had such fine guidance as Leon to assist him, and of course himself to advise him. 

And then, with only slight variations and footnotes, Agravaine repeated it all again. Several times.

Leon said nothing, nothing at all. Except for the last part of Agravaine’s soliloquy, Leon had pretty much had all the same thoughts, but he’d never spoken them aloud. He felt extremely uncomfortable that Agravaine had, especially since the king was not present. Leon was also very grateful that Gwaine was helping Percival with searching while on foot, and so hadn’t heard Agravaine. Leon had broken up enough arguments between Gwaine and Agravaine...but that didn’t make Agravaine any less of a prick, or Gwaine any less an inappropriate instigator who still needed to learn what battles to pick.

The knights were being very thorough as they’d been taught, checking under fallen trees, in ditches, in caves, any place that a man--or a body--could be tucked away and concealed. Agravaine never got off his arse to join them, though--Leon and the three knights would dismount, give the area they were in a thorough once over, get back on their horses and repeat the process, over and over,again, and all the while, Agravaine stayed on his horse and waited for them, looking somewhere between bored and indulgent. 

They didn’t find Merlin.

~~~~~~

“We have scoured the forest.”

“Scour it again.”

Arthur made the order casually, as if it should have been obvious to Leon and his uncle what was needed now. But Agravaine seemed to be determined that the king see sense. 

This was not going to end well, Leon knew.

“Sire. There is no sign of Merlin.” Leon wondered if he sounded as pleadingly desperate as he felt. Arthur needed to accept this...

Arthur said nothing, just stared at Leon as if trying to discern if he was lying. But then Agravaine moved around the table, and Arthur made an unconscious, nervous, unchecked swiping gesture at the side of his own face. Such a small movement, but a weary, vulnerable one. Leon hoped that not many in the room had seen it for what it was.

“None but this”, Agravaine said, his voice sympathetic. He placed a small piece of burnt leather on the map before Arthur. Agravaine had found it one of the few times he’d gotten off his horse during the search party--and that had been accidental. He’d almost pissed on it, he’d said.

Arthur recognized it. The room was silent for a long moment, some of them puzzled by all of this over a servant, but most of them sad for Arthur, whose face now took on a stoic, almost angry blankness.

“I am sorry you have lost such a loyal and--”

King Arthur held up his hand for silence, and Leon was glad for it. He didn’t think Arthur believed that Agravaine was sorry, either--more like relieved that they could now put an end to this business and move on.

He’d never say it out loud, but so was Leon. It was time for Arthur to remember and honor Merlin, just as Leon had done for his own cousin.

Arthur clasped both hands before his mouth. “The mercenaries, what news of them?”

Vaguely, Leon felt relieved that Arthur was finally turning to practical matters.

“We found no trace.” Leon hated having to report how they’d come up empty on all fronts. Arthur had been relying on him...

“Surely sent by that snake Alinor...” Agravaine declared, pacing behind Arthur’s chair.

Leon didn’t think so. 

Arthur didn’t either. “It can’t be”, he said strongly, challengingly, every inch the king, the strategist. “How? Our route was known only to a few within Camelot.” 

Leon had been thinking it since they were ambushed, and he knew Arthur had had to as well--but had not verbalized such a serious thing . He knew now the time had come.

“There is only one conclusion we can draw. We have a traitor in our midst.”

Another enemy within their own walls...as Morgana had shown herself to be.

He saw Gaius, unperturbed and unsurprised, slowly turn to look at Arthur, and wait.

Nothing was said for long moments, and then Arthur abruptly stood and dismissed them all, hurrying from the room.

~~~~~~

Another day in Camelot, just after sunrise.

Leon had exited his quarters and was making his way through the palace corridors when he happened to pass a figure hurrying in the opposite direction, carrying several platters of food apparently back down to the kitchens...

Who the hell was that? Leon had to do a double take. For a moment there, he thought the tall, narrow-shouldered man with the bowlcut was Merlin returned, but--this man moved too quickly and purposefully to be Merlin, even if he was dressed just like him. Why on earth would anyone want to look like Merlin?

That was peculiar....

Shaking his head, Leon continued on his way.

 

~~~~~~

Leon saw them from an upper palace window, and even without being able to hear them, he knew exactly what was happening. He knew it...

Arthur, making his way to his waiting horse, with Gwen all but chasing after him on the stairs...making a bit of a scene, really. She appeared agitated, making expansive gestures, as if she was pleading with him about something. Leon had a pretty good idea what that something would be, too--he had a strong hunch that Arthur himself was going out to look for Merlin this morning, and his lover was trying to dissuade him. He also knew, even more certainly, that she would be unsuccessful. This was Arthur, after all, and it was Merlin... 

Leon began hurrying to the courtyard without waiting for the rest of the scene to play out. Arthur actually intended to go back into the perilous woods alone, without any backup, to search for a servant while someone in his inner circle was spouting Camelot secrets. Why didn’t he just put on a sign that said in big bold letters, “COME AND KILL ME, MERCENARIES”? Did Arthur have a death wish? It was all unfathomable.

Leon was also once again surprised by Guinevere, that she’d be so quick to write off Merlin. He’d thought Gwen and Merlin were friends. First Lancelot, and now Merlin-- it appeared that her devotion to the king blinded her to everything and everyone else. It was eye-opening.

And also none of his business.

What was his business, though, was saving his king from himself. Leon hit the main hallway leading to the doors of the palace almost sprinting. He burst through the opening--

\--Just in time to see the retreating backs of the king and Gwaine, and hear the loud clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone. 

Alright, then. At least the king wasn’t alone.

Gwen was still standing at the foot of the stairs, looking wistful. 

Leon watched her a moment, and then turned to go back inside the castle. He couldn’t think of anything to say to her.

~~~~~~

Leon wasn’t surprised that Gwaine wouldn’t let Merlin’s disappearance be, that he would keep looking until all possibilities were exhausted. 

What was surprising was how quickly Gwaine and the king returned. He’d expected them to be gone all day...he and other knights would have to cover Gwaine’s duties...

They were both smiling. Grinning, even. And Arthur was very dirty, especially on one side of his face. He didn’t look particularly like a king at the moment, more like a young and victorious squire...

“My lord?” Leon addressed Arthur. They must have found him...how could they have found Merlin so quickly...?

Before Arthur could answer him, Gwaine all but crowed, “We found a bogman!”

“A what?” Leon asked.

Almost sheepishly, Arthur told him, “We found Merlin, covered in mud, just crawling out of a bog. He’s alright, though desperately in need of a bath...as am I.”

“You are”, Gwaine agreed readily, cheekily, grinning widely, and then added “That’s what you get when you get all huggy...” earning himself a warning glare from the king. 

Leon had no idea what Gwaine was on about, as usual, so he just ignored Gwaine and asked Arthur, “ What of his injury, though? You said that he was bleeding badly.”

Arthur lowered his brows in puzzlement. “Uh--I am afraid I forgot to ask, but he appears fine, except for the mud in his overgrown ears. He’s with Gaius now.”

“Apparently, Skinny-Man is far tougher than most of us give him credit for”, Gwaine said pointedly, and sauntered off, probably headed for the tavern. By the looks of things, he was going to take full advantage of this and shirk his duties for the rest of the day.

Arthur called for a bath to be drawn for himself and departed, and Leon headed for the training field. Gwaine was apparently granted a day off, but Leon still had duties to attend to.

~~~~~~  
“What are you after?”

It wasn’t that he wasn’t glad to see Merlin after his ordeal with the mercenaries, or that he didn’t think Merlin should be here in the armory. He knew that Merlin, as the king’s manservant, had full run of the castle and acted as his squire, so his being in the armory was nothing unusual. It was just that--

Merlin seemed to be just idly looking around. He had one of the smaller bows in his hands, awkwardly, and was gazing about him thoughtfully.

Leon thought that maybe his inquiry might have sounded a tad sharper and more curt than he meant it to be, but Merlin didn’t seem to take offense. In fact he smiled a little when he answered “Arthur wants a crossbow.”

A crossbow for the king! Leon’s favorite weapon. He felt a surge of excitement. If he had the chance to talk up his hobby and enlighten Merlin, perhaps even help him become better equipped to defend the king--

But not with that embarrassing, obsolete thing in Merlin’s hands....

“That one’s ancient, probably wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He hoped Merlin wasn’t going to bring that one to Arthur. He had to wonder a little too--Arthur knew that Leon was a crossbow aficionado. Why hadn’t he just asked Leon for what he needed?

Good--Merlin put the old weapon in his hands down, and turned to look at Leon, asking him curiously, “Well if you did want to hurt a fly, or a human, what would you use?”

“You would use a thing of beauty like this.” Leon moved quickly to where his favorite crossbow was stored, and could sense Merlin following him. “Carved from fifty-year old ash...” It was a man’s crossbow, fit for royalty, not for a gawky servant, but--Leon smiled indulgently, magnanimously handing it over to Merlin’s hands. He had to learn sometime...

Merlin, though, bounced it in his hands casually, irreverently, testing the perfect balance of it like it was nothing. Leon tried to warn him--’’Be careful--” but the bolt released suddenly and shattered a small pot in the corner.

“Oh!”, Merlin said excitedly, delightedly, and Leon was very chuffed that he appreciated its lightening-like, lovely deadliness. 

“Will that do the job?”

“Oh, yes, that will do the job nicely!”, Merlin laughed.

Leon chuckled a little also, nodded. “What is the job, exactly?”

“To kill Arthur.” Merlin fetched a few more bolts from the further table.

“Driving you mad is he?” Oh, those two were so like old marrieds at times. Arthur was probably being overly-solicitous to Merlin after his going missing...

“Not for long!” Merlin called as he left, still chortling, crossbow slung over his shoulder.

Well. Leon had certainly had his amusement for today.

~~~~~

He was still smiling to himself on the way back to his quarters--he’d prepare for the knighting ceremony, and then afterward ask Merlin if he’d like further instruction with the bow. His enthusiasm for the crossbow had renewed Leon’s own.

He passed the old physician Gaius in the hallway along with Gwen, and she asked urgently, “Have you seen Merlin?”

“He was in the armory.” 

“What did he want in there?” Gaius asked

Well, he knew Gaius was Merlin’s guardian, but did always keep track of his every move, every day, like this?

No matter. Nothing was going to dissolve Leon’s bright mood. 

“A crossbow. I think Arthur was getting on his nerves.”

“Why?” Gwen drew the word out.

Leon leaned forward--he didn’t want a random passerby getting the wrong idea over such a humorous joke--and whispered conspiratorally, “He said he was going to kill him.” Voicing it like that just made Leon laugh again--the thought so very ludicrous...as if Merlin would ever be competent enough for such a thing, even if he were so inclined.

He continued down the corridor, barely registering the sound of a loud, dull clang, as if something metallic had fallen to the cobblestone floor. Probably just clumsy Merlin, dropping something again. 

He was almost humming to himself when he pushed the doors to his quarters open to prepare for the afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~  
Merlin wasn’t at the knighting ceremony. Leon didn’t ask after him, knowing that if Arthur had wanted him there, he would be there. Arthur must have him off doing some errand for him, or helping Gaius, or perhaps he was resting now. Arthur may have forgotten about the wound, but these things didn’t just heal overnight.

Oh, well. There would be some other time for crossbow instruction for Merlin.

He didn’t see Merlin the next morning either, but didn’t give it another thought. Today he’d be out on patrol with the other new knights, per Arthur’s request. Leon was gratified that Arthur was taking the threat of a traitor seriously and had beefed up patrols and guards in all vulnerable areas. 

Leon wondered a little why Agravaine had not been involved in that but dutifully kept his own counsel.

The four knights came upon the old, crochety wizard not an hour’s ride from Camelot. It was almost as if he was taunting them all, mocking Camelot. The nerve of the maddening, vinegary old curmudgeon. He was like a boil on Leon’s arse.

He was trying, unsuccessfully, to mount his horse.

Leon caught a glimpse of the carping criminal’s boots as he struggled to pull himself up. He could have sworn he’d seen those boots somewhere before. He just couldn’t think of where.

Well, it wasn’t important. What was important was making this irksome, vexatious creature pay for his crimes. He’d already escaped the pyre once--and while Arthur had not yet ordered any executions for magic users during his reign, Leon was certain he’d want him brought back to Camelot for justice.

The old man finally noticed them and turned. “Ah! Gentlemen! What a pleasant surprise.”

Leon was in no mood. “I wish we could say the same thing. Move away from the horse. Please.”

Come to think of it...that horse resembled Merlin’s a great deal...

“What lovely manners. I do admire a man who says please.”

So this was how he was going to play it. “Now”, Leon snapped, drawing his sword and signalling the others to do the same. They moved forward as one.

The wizened one moved forward finally, eyeing them all. He did an up-and-down inspection and then asked Percival, “Have you got bigger?” 

How would he know, anyway? He’d never met Percival before. The old man was not only a sorcerer but senile too.

“You’ll get shorter if I have my way”, Percival intoned. 

‘Yeah, mine too’, Leon thought. 

“Nice. I like it.” 

So annoying.

“Leon, really. There must be something in the knight’s code about how to treat an old man.”

How in the hell did he know Leon’s name? They hadn’t exactly been introduced.

“You’re not just any old man though, are you.”

“You escaped the flames once, you won’t escape again”, Gwaine added. Leon thought he’d probably reached and surpassed his level of patience too.

But the irksome old octogenarian was apparently enjoying himself. 

“And you are not what you seem”, he goaded Gwaine.

Wait a minute. Leon knew what he might mean, but no one else did, least of all this old man. How--?

Keeping up appearances, Gwaine snapped, “What is he talking about?”

The better question was, ‘How did he know?’ He was a sorcerer, and a wicked one but as far as Leon knew, not a mind reader.

“I’ve a good mind to run you through right now”, Gwaine’s temper threatened.

“I think Arthur would prefer to see him alive”, Leon halted Gwaine.

“Oh, no, no”, this puerile foe continued his nonsense. “No, really, Arthur does not want to see me, believe me. In fact”, he spat the words with glee now, working himself up, “If Arthur does see me he will be in grave danger!”

Oh, boy.

Elyan spoke for the first time, extending his blade to almost touch the wizard’s throat. “Are you threatening the life of our king?”

This sorcerer was playing a very dangerous game. He couldn’t go on like this, not in front of these men, all of whom loved Arthur and were vastly loyal and protective of him.

Percival poked him with the tip of his sword, and the babbling creature whirled on him, “Percival! That is a sword. It does hurt.”

How did he know Percival’s name? 

He whirled and began speaking arrogantly again. “Yes, I am afraid to say, that if you don’t let me go, then there is every chance that I will kill your king!” He yelled the last three words, just in case they were as deaf as he was.

“Say that again-” Gwaine gritted out.

“Why, have you got ale in your ears?”

How--?

Gwaine charged, and with one word, the old thing blasted him. Gwaine landed several feet away and didn’t move.

Leon met Percival’s eyes, and, blades at the ready, they both started forward--

Leon wasn’t certain what happened after that. The old man stepped back, and he and Percival were suddenly drawn together, as if magnetized. They were stuck, chest to knees, and then...

They were thrown at Elyan.

And they were all stuck together, one atop the other. It was the most idiotic, humiliating thing Leon had ever--  
It had been, until the sorcerer had used them like a staircase to step on and get on his horse and ride away, chuckling the whole time. He’d just defeated four knights of Camelot, and made it look like child’s play.

When they were finally able to sort themselves out, the magic user was long gone and Gwaine was just stirring. Leon was the first up, and he went over to Gwaine and poked him, not gently, with his booted toe. “Come on, Gwaine, get up, you’re not hurt...”

Leon couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been in a more churlish, grouchy mood. He snapped at the others all the way home, and didn’t put details of the incident in his report to Arthur. He wanted to put the whole thing out of his mind. 

By mutual agreement, none of them spoke of it again.

Even so, in odd moments, Leon would remember those things that seemed eerily familiar, and how the sorcerer seemed to know things about him, about all of them that he shouldn’t, and he’d wonder.


	8. Chapter 8

Leon did not have long to wonder about the elderly, rude sorcerer’s mysteries. He received word shortly thereafter from his mother: She’d found a match for him.

Leon was getting married.

She’d accomplished quite a bit in a very short amount of time. She’d even set a date. It was less than a fortnight after Henrik’s death, after all, and that could only mean one thing: Leon’s mother had been working on this far, far before his younger kinsman had died, and without Leon’s express okay. 

He supposed he could be affronted by her for not following his wishes, but under the circumstances, she just seemed remarkably forward-thinking. And he knew her, knew she had his best interests at heart and would find a bride that wasn’t a homely toad that made him cringe when he looked at her. 

It was all for the best.

His intended’s name was Fleta--the youngest child and only daughter of a very wealthy earl with four older sons. She had seen just seventeen springs--and his mother assured him in her letter, several times even, that she was “precious, very fair of face and will be most pleasing to you.”

Her dowry was also quite sizable. In fact, it was more than sizeable--it was expansive. 

Leon didn’t know the family his mother named, but he was already pleased. He quickly penned his agreement and sent the parchment off with the next courier. 

Perhaps there would be the birth of an heir to celebrate at this time next year.

~~~~~~  
Leon quietly requested leave and was granted it without difficulty--and when the king learned of why he would be away from Camelot for a short time, a celebration was held in Leon’s honor. Arthur gave him one hundred parcels of land as a wedding present and arranged to have candles, silks, and tapestries transported to his intended. The king was generous indeed. 

Arthur would not be able to attend, of course, but Leon was granted permission to take several of his knight-brothers with him on the trip, including Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and three of the older knights. He would be glad to have their companionship and support both on the journey and for the ceremony.

While Leon would admit to himself that he had the usual, expected pre-nuptial jitters, he was also becoming more excited about it all. He would be married. He would have an heir soon, and if the gods smiled upon them, more after. He would have sex readily available to him whenever his wife was with him, and perhaps he could arrange for her to live in apartments in the castle at some later date. Of course, Leon could always partake of female flesh at other times too--marriage vows only swore the woman to fidelity, not men, after all. (And while Leon knew that many women did not think that was “fair”, Leon knew it was--after all, women were granted security, titles and prestige through their husbands, while the men, soldiers and knights, risked their lives every day to defend and protect while separated from them, sometimes for long months at a time. It was perfectly fair. Men had needs.)

But Leon’s first obligation and loyalty would always be to Camelot, of course. Before he could leave for his estate and his wedding, there was still the matter of a traitor within Camelot’s walls.

~~~~~~

Gaius disappeared during the night, without explanation.

In their quest to find the traitor within Camelot’s inner circle, Arthur and his uncle had settled upon Gaius as the most likely suspect. Or, to be more accurate, Agravaine had pushed the idea hard, and Arthur had sadly and reluctantly seen the logic in his assertions. After all, while most in Camelot had pretty much forgotten, it was still a fact--Gaius had magic. He had vowed to Arthur’s father, King Uther, that he would never use it and had therefore been spared during the Great Purge, but still--it looked very much like he was using it now, as well as relinquishing confidential, proprietary knowledge to those who would do Camelot and Arthur harm.

After his encounter with the Druids and their apparent restoring him to life, Leon tried hard not to examine his own feelings on magic too closely. After all, his opinion didn’t matter--magic was against the law, and he was sworn to uphold that law. And there were magic users, like that old, elusive, nasty warlock they kept running into in the woods that surely deserved to be removed, permanently. 

But then--Leon didn’t think all magic users could be evil, could they? Children who happen to be born with it, or those who used it only to help and heal? 

Yet... on the other hand, he’d seen how magic could corrupt, as it had Morgana, obviously.

The only conclusion Leon could draw was that he just didn’t know.

He’d always believed without a doubt that Gaius was loyal to Camelot and that he loved Arthur, had loved him since his birth and would strive to protect him, but now--well, Gaius was missing in the middle of the night, the royal stables had been disturbed, and Leon had confirmed that one of the finest, most valuable horses, a brilliant white stallion, was missing.

It made his heart hurt, and he could just imagine how it would make Arthur feel.

He returned to the physician’s quarters to report his findings. Merlin was standing in the middle of the room, his expression torn between tears and fury. Arthur was standing apart from him, looking regretful and almost nauseous.

The room was being searched, and not neatly. Crockery, books, papers, herbs, vials, and all manner of possessions were shattered, torn, and being strewn everywhere. Merlin kept starting every time something else was broken. A soldier by the staircase was coming precariously close to setting the whole room on fire with his torch. 

It reminded Leon horridly of Aredian the witch hunter and his own part in that search, and the guilt afterward when Gaius had been vindicated. He’d tried to help restore order to the room by lifting heavy bookcases, tables and benches back into place...but in the end, most of Gaius’ workroom had had to be replaced.

Merlin had looked much the same then as he did now, about to fall apart.

They found several books of spells then. There was too much evidence against Gaius this time. Merlin tried to say that he knew Gaius, he lived with him, that those weren’t his books at all, but Agravaine wasn’t interested, of course. Arthur didn’t respond, just stared woodenly at the books in Agravaine’s hands. Leon thought only of how they’d all thought they’d known Morgana too, and had lived with her as well.

It was time to accept things, as painful as they were. 

And Leon was leaving tomorrow morning to be wed. It was a time of maturing for all.

~~~~~  
It was a day’s ride to his estate in the southern part of the kingdom. Leon was ready to go and meet his traveling companions in the square at first light.

But when he opened the door of his chambers, there was a bottle of wine on the floor before him, with a note from Gwaine. He expressed his apologies, but he would not be accompanying Leon to his wedding. He felt he was needed in Camelot right now.

Leon knew what that meant: He’d stay behind to look after Merlin.

Leon couldn’t condemn Gwaine for that--loyalty was part of the knight’s code, after all, and Merlin really did need a friend about right now--he was a wreck--but Leon could admit privately that he was disappointed in Gwaine’s choice to stay behind. The man constantly either drove Leon to madness or hysterical laughter, and sometimes both at the same time.

He picked up the wine bottle and examined it--Gwaine’s wedding present to him. It was very fine wine...very fine. He only hoped Gwaine hadn’t nicked it from the palace cellar.

~~~~~~~  
His mother had not been exaggerating. The girl he was about to marry was ravishing. 

Leon was honestly taken aback at how beautiful she was. Long blond hair, piled high and fastened with a small glittering clip, offsetting her heart shaped face, graceful neck and rosy-pink, unblemished complexion. She was slim without being bony, curvy without being fat...she filled her primrose-hued frock perfectly. She was, honestly, amazing-looking. Exquisite. Dazzling. Ethereal. And she--Fleta, her name was Fleta--would be his wife in two days’ time. 

He looked at the fellow kinghts he’d brought with him to stand by him, shot them all a warning look to put their eyes back in their heads--

Fleta glided over to their party, accompanied by her entourage, members of her family, her nurse--

This would be their first introduction.

He bowed low, took her hand and kissed the back of it, smiled what he hoped she could see was an open, approving smile and murmured the words that he’d rehearsed to himself on the entire ride there, that he was very pleased with their arrangement, would treat her well...

“Hello”, she whispered, very softly, and smiled tentatively, nervously. 

~~~~~~

There were the usual technicalities of course. He spoke with her father first, a staid, stodgy earl named Edmund that Leon did not find particularly endearing. His wife had died the year before, and Leon got the feeling from him that he felt that his heirs were piling up at home and he was more than relieved to unburden himself with his daughter’s departure. 

Besides which, the man dressed like a bleeding pompinjay, all frilly sleeves and fussy vestments.

He was then introduced to all of Fleta’s brothers, and that was alright, though he again felt like they were more inclined towards sedate estate living than battle.

As soon as it was polite, Leon excused himself and went to see if he could catch a few minutes alone with his bride to be.

Of course, there wouldn’t be any real “alone” until after they were married, but he did manage to be seated near her at the southwest windowseat of the estate, her nurse not twenty feet away from the open doorway.

He didn’t know what to say really, and she was blushing furiously and staring at her clenched hands in her lap...

“Um.” He said. “Do you ride?” Lots of ladies enjoyed equestrian pursuits, he knew.

She shook her head slightly.

“Oh, uh--you wouldn’t happen to like archery, would you?” The odds of that were probably nil, that she would enjoy his passion too, but again, he knew of some noblewomen who engaged--

She glanced at him quickly, blankly, and then lowered her eyes again.

“Do you hunt? Like dogs? Falconry?” Each inquiry was met with a little giggle, or a shrug, or small shake of her head.

Leon was becoming a little desperate. What did ladies do anyway? Letter writing? Needlework? Weather watching? He couldn’t really have any sort of conversation with her about any of those, could he.

“Do you like to read? Poetry, perhaps?”

She shook her head again, and Leon realized suddenly that with the exception of the barely audible “hi” she’d murmured at their introduction, he hadn’t heard her speak yet. 

“Are you involved with any charitable organizations?”

She bit her lip, shrugged again.

This was painful. She was shy, obviously--at least Leon hoped that was all this was, and that she wasn’t simple or tetched in the head. Leon had had more stimulating discussions with his horse. She must speak English...why couldn’t she ask him something? 

Maybe she was just very humble?

“Would you like to ask me anything?” Leon offered very gently.

She sniffled, blushed even further, twitched a little. 

It was like pulling teeth. He’d never imagined just having a simple conversation could be so hard. After a long moment of Leon trying to wrack his brain for something else, he asked despairingly, 

“Do you want to return to your nurse now?” 

She shook her head quickly, and then, still looking down at her lap, she whispered, “I like to paint and draw.”

‘She speaks!’, Leon wanted to shout, but instead grinned at her, clinging to the unexpected breakthrough desperately. Art wasn’t really his cup of tea, but he’d go with whatever he could at this point.

“Indeed! That sounds brilliant. I’m sure you’re very good at it, too. We have a small but very nice collection of art here, would you like to see it?”

Fleta nodded and after a moment’s hesitation, took his proffered arm. Her nurse trailed after them as Leon walked up and down the corridors of his family home with her, pointing out this framed painting and that one. 

Fleta looked, and nodded, and said nothing.

~~~~~~  
Leon was married--he was a husband. After his and Fleta’s hands had been entwined with the long string of flowered greenery and they’d been declared wed, his mother and aunt had both wept tears of pride and happiness for him, his knights had winked and congratulated him, and his new wife, Fleta, blushed a becoming shade of pink and trembled. And with the exception of the obligatory “I will” during the ceremony (which the officiant had had to ask her to repeat, because no one heard her whisper the first time), Fleta said nothing at all.

Leon was learning that she didn’t speak at all unless it was absolutely necessary.

And so, all through the celebratory feast, and the congratulatory speeches, and even the dancing, his beautiful wife Fleta, clad in a resplendent dove-colored wedding gown, smiled her timid little smile, and nodded a lot, and didn’t talk.

Leon just didn’t know what to make of it. All of the women he knew liked to talk. He could understand that she was shy and might be unnerved with him, this man she was bound to the rest of her life--she didn’t know him yet, after all. (Though how they were supposed to get to know each other when she wouldn’t converse with him was anyone’s guess.) He saw her mingling with her nurse and some female relatives a few times while he was socializing with the men, and sometimes she smiled, but she wasn’t talking with them, either.

Maybe once some time had passed, and once she’d grown comfortable with him...

~~~~~~  
It was his wedding night. 

Leon wiped himself down with a wet cloth and then changed into the loose tunic and sleeping breeches that had been laid out for him. These weren’t his boyhood sleeping quarters--these rooms had a connecting door to Fleta’s chambers, and her maid would summon him to her when she was ready. 

He sat at the small writing desk to wait, hoping fervently that Fleta wouldn’t be too afraid, that she’d been prepared properly and wasn’t going in blind...she was very young and meek, after all, and radiated innocence.

Presently, there was a knock at the door, and he answered it to see her middle-aged maid on the other side. She curtsied, smiled a little and told him, “She’s ready for you”, and then gave him a look that might as well have screamed “Be gentle.” 

Oh, boy. There certainly was no pressure on either one of them tonight...

It was time.

He opened the door to his new wife’s rooms slowly, cautiously. He didn’t want to startle her...

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, clad in a simple pastel green nightdress, long golden hair hanging in waves around her shoulders. The room was very dimly lit, probably by design, with only the fireplace and a single lamp at the bedside table for illumination. 

He went to her, sat down beside her on the bed, very gingerly, and took her hand. 

She didn’t look up, but he could feel her shaking. And the room wasn’t cold at all...in fact it was a warm evening. 

“Fleta” he said. “You are very lovely”, and meant it.

She glanced at him, a corner of her mouth lifting minutely.

Leon didn’t even know how to initiate this. Usually he’d begin by just conversing, but that wasn’t an option with Fleta...

Best get down to it. It was the only thing he could think of.

“Have you been prepared for tonight?”

She turned scarlet, but she did answer him, “They--told me--I...I know what goes on between a man and woman on their wedding night.”

Leon felt his heart melt, but she wasn’t finished. “I--I give myself to you.”, still in that breathy, low, near-whisper of hers. And a tear escaped, a single tear, down that perfect cheek.

After a moment, Leon kissed the tear away, kissed her temple and murmured back, “And I to you. We will go slowly..don’t be afraid...”

He eased her into his lap, murmured soothing nonsense words. Eventually he coaxed her nightdress down off her shoulders, beheld her full bosoms, and gently guided her arms away when she tried to cover herself. He called her breasts “ripe cherries”, and he kissed and licked and rubbed them gently--breasts had always been his favorite part of a woman. He hoped that she would enjoy the sensations too, that his beard didn’t scratch. She quivered, her mouth pressed tightly closed, accepting, but made no sound, no move to touch him or kiss him. 

“Are you alright?”, he asked her, when his cock was full and aching in his breeches and making him already sticky with pre-come.

Eyes squeezed tightly closed, she nodded quickly.

“Don’t be scared...it may hurt a bit the first time, but it can be quite pleasurable, even for the lady..”

He lowered her carefully to the bed, glanced at the bedside table. Yes, there was a small pot of oil to help ease his passage...

But things went south from there, despite his best efforts not to hurt her. He’d eased her gown completely off, but, mindful of her innocence, kept his own top on--he didn’t want to scare her further with a bared, hairy chest--and pushed his trousers down to his knees. He had to convince her to part her legs, but she began to cry in earnest when he tried to touch her there...

This was hell. 

“I just...the oil will make it easier...please, Fleta, please trust me...we have to...the sheets have to be presented in the morning...”

She screeched when he penetrated her, his swelling certainly not small. He stilled immediately, telling her over and over again that he was sorry he hurt her. She stifled her sobs with her own fist. He’d felt the membrane part...

Eventually, he tried another small thrust. She gurgled, sniffed, but she didn’t scream again. She silently sobbed and laid still, complacent and dutiful. 

‘Close your eyes and think of Camelot...’, he thought, heart shredding with guilt. ‘For both of us.’

~~~~~~~~~   
Once he’d spent inside her and withdrew (making a depraved, slithering sound that embarrassed him terribly), Leon had thought Fleta would curl up and probably cry herself to sleep, but she surprised him once again. She sniffled and wiped at her tears, and then gave him a watery half-smile. 

“I’m sorry”, she whispered. 

His heart softened for her even more. Leon kissed the tip of her nose and told her, “You were very brave and have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who is sorry--I wanted it to have been better for you, more enjoyable. It will be easier though, now” He retrieved her gown from the floor, offered to help her back into it. 

She looked at it for a moment and then at him and said, “Don’t you want to--again?”

Oh, she was a sweet and delicate creature, his new wife--barely more than a child, and eager to please. “Tomorrow”, he told her, “And perhaps, if we are incredibly fortunate, I will leave at the end of the week with our son growing within you.” He let his hand rest lightly on her belly for a moment.

She smiled at him, and he slipped her nightdress on over her head, moved around the bed while she put the length of it to rights. Together they straightened the bedclothes (and Leon noted that those who would be interested in those same sheets would be satisfied). Finally, he blew out the light and returned to their marriage bed with only light from the fire left in the room.

He would have liked to comfort her, gather her to his chest, but didn’t know how she’d react to that. She was so tentative with him. So he settled for laying close to her, shoulders and hips just touching, and closed his eyes.

“What if it’s a girl?” she whispered.

He opened his eyes, turned his head to look at her. “What?”

Fleta took his hand, guided it back to her flat belly. “The baby. It may be a girl.”

He turned on his side to look at her completely, what he could make of her in the near darkness. She turned her face away quickly, embarrassed.

Leon couldn’t help but smile. Of course, there was always the possibility of female heirs. Not an ideal situation, that.   
Still--the thought of holding a little daughter of his own in his arms...

He took her hand, turned it up, traced her palm with the tip of his finger. “She would have me right here--in her palm, hers to do as she willed. I fear I could deny her nothing. She would be my heart’s delight.”

“Our delight”, Fleta whispered fiercely.

“Yes”, Leon agreed. “Ours. As beautiful as her mother, with your lovely hair rather than mine.” 

Fleta actually giggled, but said nothing else, and eventually Leon fell asleep with her warm presence tucked against his side.

~~~~~~~

When the time came to return to Camelot, Leon felt only ...massively relieved.

He’d tried, he’d tried his damnedest to bond with his introverted wife, to no avail. After that first night, she barely responded to anything said to her. Leon felt himself slipping from patiently understanding, to confused, to mildly irritated and frustrated, to downright annoyed. She didn’t appear to be making any effort at all, and Leon was sick of it. It was exhausting to keep trying. Didn’t she have a personality? Wasn’t she a lady, gently bred in the matters of etiquette and manners? Because as far as Leon was concerned, her behavior bordered on rude.

He kept his silence, though. At least one of them had some idea of decorum. Besides, what could he say? “I understand that you don’t talk, but I need you to anyway?” 

She did allow relations with him each night, though not with anything even hinting at passion. She merely lay open and obedient and still while he expelled his seed into her. Leon would look at her, silent and unmoving, eyes closed tight, just getting through it, and long for some sort of enthusiasm or aplomb. He wanted to grab the perfect swell of her arse in both hands and squeeze, or lick and suckle the juices between her pale thighs, or tease her lovely, full breasts into pebbled peaks and mark her then with his mouth. But he didn’t. He knew if he tried she would no doubt become hysterical, and he couldn’t deal with that at all. So he stayed silent, and pursued the reason for their marriage, that of creating an heir.

He wouldn’t have her join him in Camelot, at least not now. Not for another year, at least, unless she had become pregnant these few days they had been together. Perhaps in a year’s time she would have grown and matured enough to be able to cope with being a wife, and learned the art of conversation. 

Maybe.

Leon said his goodbyes and joined his waiting companions for the long ride back to Camelot. He hadn’t really known what he’d been expecting from his marriage, but this wasn’t it.

The first thing he was going to do once he arrived back in Camelot was find the nearest whore and empty his balls properly.

~~~~~~

Gaius had been cleared of any wrongdoing. He’d been abducted, just as Merlin had insisted. Gwaine had helped to bring Gaius home, had kept Merlin from pissing himself in worriment the whole time. Gaius had been in pretty bad shape, but it looked like he’d make a full recovery. 

Leon hadn’t been back in Camelot a full day before Gwaine asked to speak with Leon privately.

“Shut your mouth, Gwaine! What you’re saying is treason!”

“You know I’m right!”

Leon sighed. Half an hour they’d been at this, and they were right back where they started. Any conversation with Gwaine was always the same.

Very quietly, very slowly, Leon stated, “It doesn’t matter what you think I know or don’t know. What matters is, you cannot accuse the king’s uncle, the lord regent of Camelot and a trusted member of the council--”

“Trusted by who?!” Gwaine yelled.

“--Of being unloyal to Camelot or the king, or in cahoots with Morgana, or having the court physician kidnapped, without utterly rock-solid proof. Do you have that?”

Gwaine glared at him, flint-eyed, for just a moment and then opened his mouth to speak again.

“I didn’t think so”, Leon said smoothly. “So that means...”

“Arthur’s life may be in danger”, Gwaine murmured.

That stopped Leon when any of Gwaine’s rantings couldn’t. He stared at his fellow knight.

“There is so much Agravaine does that isn’t quite right. He’s constantly leaving the city in the middle of the night. Our patrols have been ambushed when no one was supposed to know where we were going. Agravaine constantly advises Arthur to do things that anyone can see are the wrong thing...”

“Stop talking! That’s all circumstantial. I’m sure if we asked Agravaine, which we are not going to do, by the way, he’d have a logical explanation for it all.”

“And what about this whole fiasco, with the accusations against Gaius...”

“He made a mistake! He admitted it. Maybe he’s overzealous in his protection of his nephew...”

Gwaine was laughing now, shaking his head without humor. “Leon, why are you doing this, why do you keep burying your head in the sand? Because he’s a noble? Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you trust Agravaine one hundred percent?”

“Our opinions don’t matter! Why can’t you get that through your wooden skull?”

“It matters to me. If you honestly believe that Agravaine has only Camelot and Arthur’s best interests at heart, I will cease and desist. Tell me.”

Leon couldn’t. How many times had these same thoughts skittered through his mind, traitorous and disloyal? Yet how could he voice it? Agravaine was Arthur’s uncle, his closest and most trusted adviser, friend and family member. To show disloyalty to him was one step away from being disloyal to Arthur. 

Maybe all these coincidences and circumstances surrounding Agravine were just that?

Or maybe they weren’t, and Camelot had another viper in the nest.

His silence went on too long. Gwaine looked at him with an almost pitying expression and rose to leave. “I never would have taken you for a fool, Leon”, he said over his shoulder.

“Don’t let your friendship with Merlin and Gaius blind you to your duty!” Leon countered. That was probably what this was about, really, just this most recent incident. Gwaine was probably still upset for Merlin’s sake.

Gwaine turned around to face him. “That’s not it. And I hate to keep repeating myself, but I think we both know that. Don’t let your blind loyalty and your insistence that nobility is always right be Arthur’s or Camelot’s downfall.” Gwaine turned to go again, grabbed the door’s handle.

“Wait!” Leon got up and strode the few paces so that he was standing face to face with Gwaine. Truly, what would Gwaine have him do? Leon had felt these same uncomfortable niggles regarding Agravaine, time and time again, that something was not quite right--but there was no evidence! It would be pointless to bring mere suspicions to the king--he not only wouldn’t listen, he could have them imprisoned or hanged for saying it!

But...if Arthur may be threatened...?

“Keep your eyes open, Gwaine. That’s all I will say to you. Just--stay sharp. And speak no more of this matter to anyone...for now.”

Gwaine stared at him for a long, hard moment, his expression unreadable, and then bobbed his head once in something like a bow. And then he was gone.

~~~~~~~  
A humanitarian mission (which, in knight parlance, translated into “milk run”). Leon, Percival, Gwaine, and Elyan were to escort Gwen, her friend, Mary, and Merlin to one of the outer villages for medical treatment. Merlin, believe it or not, was to be the acting physician. Leon had to wonder when Merlin had graduated past attempts at bandaging wounds (rather badly), setting bones and stitching cuts, but Arthur and Gaius seemed to think he was up to the task, so...

No doubt they would arrive at the village, Merlin would not be able to diagnose the ailment, and they’d all just have to turn around and fetch Gaius, making not one but two round trips. Leon wasn’t really comfortable or pleased about it all, but his opinion had not been sought. He was just glad that for once, the king of Camelot was staying in Camelot and...doing kingly things. 

Agravaine would also be staying behind with Arthur.

They set out at first light, four knights, two women, and the “acting physician”, Merlin. Leon couldn’t help but notice that Gwen was wearing trousers, topped with a mauve-colored cloak. He didn’t care for that, didn’t approve of it--women should look like women, after all, and he hoped his Fleta never donned such things. On the other hand, his own very brief and never-to-be-spoken-of-again turn in a dress had demonstrated just how impractical and restrictive the garments were, so he could understand why trousers were occasionally--only very occasionally-- necessary for the working class.

~~~~~~~

Leon and his party managed to make very good time, arriving in the village just before nightfall. 

The villagers had pretty much the same reaction to Merlin as a “physician” as Leon had had. Elyan seemed to be in protective mode for Merlin today, and Guinevere made an apologetic face and quickly explained to the harassed-looking man who’d questioned Merlin’s credentials--and his age--that he’d been appointed by the king himself to help them.

Leon and the knights spent a relatively quiet night in one of the barns, although Leon’s dreams were oddly vivid and disturbing. In the morning, just as he’d suspected, there was no change in the patients. They were all to retrace their steps to report Merlin’s findings to the actual physician.

Sometimes, being a knight of Camelot made less sense than other times.  
~~~~~~

Gwaine! Damn the man...

They’d come upon bandits in the forest, and Leon and the others all knew that the scene before them could not end well. There was a woman, a small, vulnerable, obviously frightened woman with them, wearing tattered clothing, hair dishevelled, skin dirtied. She was trying to get away from them, but--the men’s untoward intentions were too clear for anyone who cared to look.

Gwaine being Gwaine, he’d jumped into the fray without waiting for Leon’s signal. It didn’t take long at all for the knights to dispatch these putrid excuses for human beings. They were no match for real men with swords who could fight back, rather than a helpless woman. Those that were not dealt with directly scattered into the forest, like the spineless cowards they had shown themselves to be.

They spent a moment congratulating each other, allowing their surges of energy to dissipate, before they heard Percival’s call: “Over here!”

Leon could just make out Percival’s bulk from behind a tree. They all hurried to him. He was cradling the young woman in his arms protectively. 

Oh, no...

Her thin wrists were bound before her, her face pale and still...she wasn’t moving.

“ Looks like we’re too late”, Percival murmured desolately, looking crushed. Even more so than all of them, Percival could not stand to see women or children suffer. It hadn’t been that long ago that the big man had lost his family to Morgana and Cendred’s army. 

Merlin leaned forward to check her eyes. “No, she’s--”

Merlin might have said more after that, but no one could tell, because the girl suddenly thrashed in Percival’s arms and let loose with a piercing scream that left Leon’s ears ringing. 

Well, at least she was alive.

Merlin backed away fast, and Percival soothed her, telling her she was safe now, they were knights of Camelot and no harm would come to her. She was still terrified and trembling when Gwen got her to tell them her name--Lamia--and untied her poor wrists.

But when Merlin again tried to touch her, to treat her hands, to ask her what had happened, Lamia reacted much the same way as the first time. Leon just put a gentle hand on Merlin’s back, letting him know to stop, that it was obvious she didn’t want him to touch her. Maybe he resembled one of the horrid men that had harmed her, who knew. People who were traumatized often didn’t behave rationally. She had no way of knowing that Merlin was harmless and gentle, after all, and that he was only trying to help.

Carefully, Leon touched her shoulder very gently, and when she didn’t flinch from him, asked her, “Are you strong enough to ride?” She nodded, her wide, tear-filled eyes looking over his shoulder balefully at Merlin.

Leon knew that they had to keep moving, and quickly. The bandits would no doubt be back before long, probably with reinforcements, and nightfall was fast approaching. They needed to find a place to camp for the night.

They were knights of Camelot. It was part of the knight’s code to take care of women needing help. They would see to it that this sweet, frightened girl was looked after and safe. It was their duty and their honor.

 

~~~~~~~

Merlin started causing problems as soon as they’d stopped for the night. Didn’t he ever listen or learn? How in the hell did Arthur put up with him...

It had been more than obvious to anyone with a brain that Lamia did not want Merlin near her, and still he went to her, ostensibly to help her down from Percival’s horse, and frightening her all over again. And after Percival had managed to calm her down, too.

“Hey!” Percival snapped. And then he shoved Merlin, hard enough to back him up the length of the horse. “Get away from her! And stay away.”

Whoa. Now that was...surprising. Leon witnessed the exchange from a few paces away and saw Percival’s face twist with anger. Percival helped Lamia down from his horse and walked away with her quickly, still disgruntled. Leon didn’t think he’d ever seen Percival genuinely angry with anyone but enemies in battle.

On the other hand, Merlin did tend to get on everyone’s last nerve, especially without the king around to keep him somewhat in line.

Gwen was immediately at Merlin’s side, telling him that Percival hadn’t meant it, he was just tired. Leon said nothing, but thought only, ‘He sure looked to me like he meant it.’

~~~~~~~~

Merlin stayed a respectful distance away from Lamia after that. 

But when Gwen tried to persuade Lamia to eat the next morning, she again cringed violently away. Leon could see that Gwen was worried about her lack of appetite, as they all were.

Unfortunately, Merlin still hadn’t got a clue. Apparently he was so used to the way Arthur ridiculously allowed him to question his authority, he thought he could behave the same way with just the knights.

“Pack your bags, we ride east with the rising sun”, Leon ordered. 

“Wait”, Merlin called. “East? Camelot lies west of here.”

Leon gritted his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn’t crack them. A peasant servant, and not even a particularly competent one at that, was questioning his orders, and acting like Leon didn’t know direction. Leon barely managed to tamp down on his temper.

Did the king really allow his servant this kind of behavior? It was inconceivable.

Elyan spoke up before Leon could tell Merlin just what he thought of him. “Lamia has asked that we take her home.”

“No, we need to get Gaius”, Merlin said. He was arguing with knights! 

Gwaine stood up, for once showing some common sense. “Gaius can wait.”

Unbelievably, Merlin would not acknowledge their authority. “We were sent to help the people of Longstead. Their lives depend on us.”

Leon had had all he was going to take. For godssake, a peasant arguing with knights! He strode forward almost until he was even with Merlin, who was still sitting on his useless arse by a tree.

“You dare to question our judgement! You are not a knight! You’re not even a physician, you’re nothing but a servant.” Leon had never felt such disgust before. He turned his back on Merlin, strode back toward his horse to pack the last of his things away. If Merlin had been anything other than worthless, he wouldn’t have had to do this..

“Please!” Gwen cried. “You must listen, Merlin’s right, we have to get back to--!” 

Fortunately, the maidservant’s brother put her in her place as she should have been put long ago, so that Leon didn’t have to. It was all just unfathomable to Leon, that he and his fellow knights should be burdened with two servants who thought themselves so above their station that they’d show such insubordination to knights! He had to draw upon every ounce of self-discipline he possessed not to give them a serious reprimand right now. He didn’t only because it might upset poor Lamia, but when they returned to Camelot, the king was going to hear about this, and Leon would strongly recommend severe punishment. 

~~~~~~~~

Speaking of insubordinate...Gwaine was the poster boy for it. He would never learn manners or decorum, and he didn’t even have the excuse of being low born! Gwaine’d been trying to show off for sweet Lamia, deliberately bumping into Leon, speaking rudely to him...honestly, the man was a complete and total disgrace.

They’d scuffled, Gwaine and Leon, and Leon found himself distracted and off his game--so much so that Gwaine managed to score a hit and draw blood. Leon was going in for the kill, he’d show Lamia how well he would protect her, when Elyan and Percival separated the two of them. Leon was then further served the indignity of a scolding from the incompetent peasant they’d been burdened with on this mission.

“Great!”, Merlin yelled, like his opinion mattered. It did not, however much Merlin happened to have the favor of the king. 

Still angry, Leon did allow Merlin to lead him away resentfully. But Merlin’s clumsy, all-thumbs stitching of the wound did not improve his mood at all. “That needle’s the size of a spear!”

“M’sorry, it’s all I have”, Merlin said, biting off the excess thread he’d wasted. Honestly, couldn’t the boy do anything right? 

Gwen wrapped his arm, and when she declared it finished, Leon got up, spewed a sarcastic “Thank you!” to her, and hurried to check on Lamia. He wouldn’t trust any of these mindless incompetents to her safety any longer. He didn’t know what had gotten into everyone, they’d all seemed to have been struck by some sort of mind-numbing disease. He only knew that he was the only one unaffected.

That night, Leon had the same dreams he’d had when they’d taken shelter in the village barns, vivid and too-real and threatening. 

~~~~~~~

Elyan went missing during the night. He was supposed to have been on guard...

Leon told Gwen to stay with Lamia, as much as it killed him--it should be himself defending her, taking care of her, dammit--and took the knights and Merlin with him to search. 

It was such a bloody good thing that Lamia was with them. She knew of shelter nearby, a place where they could tend to Elyan. Merlin tried to make trouble again and so did Gwen, but Leon knew good advice when he heard it. 

“Silence! Both of you! You’ve no say in these matters.” Leon roared. He’d had had all he was going to take from Gwen and Merlin. Those two had done nothing but hinder this mission from the very start, and Leon’s patience was at an end. “You come with us, or you stay here, it’s up to you.” Leon fervently hoped they’d stay where they were or wander off and get eaten by something, he really didn’t care. Lamia and Elyan were the priorities here. 

Bless her, dear Lamia lead them to an old, sturdy castle, a ruined but solid keep. Here, they would be safe and could see to Elyan. What would they do without her?

At least Guinevere was no longer whining about going back and was trying to help her brother, being carried by Gwaine. 

There was a startling moment when everyone’s torch went out, but somehow, Merlin’s torch reignited after a moment. 

And when Merlin touched his torch to Leon’s, he felt his heart speed up frantically: “Where’s Lamia?” Oh, no, no, no, something must have happened to her...”Lamia!”

They all began to hurry quickly to the one narrow corridor, the only one that she could have gone, opening a heavy wooden door into another larger chamber...strewn with skeletons. Human skeletons.

Oh, no. Leon’s heart’s pace increased further. Leon would never forgive himself if anything happened to Lamia. He was in charge here, he was First Knight, and she was his responsibility. He suddenly felt utterly terrified and horribly lost.

“What is this place?’, Merlin said. 

“Whatever it is, it isn’t safe. We need to find Lamia, she could be in danger!” 

“We’re the ones in danger, Leon!” Oh, gods, he would not shut up! What was wrong with Merlin? Leon felt his temper rise once more, but Merlin wasn’t finished. “She’s brought us here--she’s lead us to a trap.”

“That’s a lie!” Percival barked.

“She’s poisoned your minds and you can’t see it!”

“Enough!” Leon ordered. 

“It was Lamia that attacked Elyan!” 

Leon whirled on Merlin. If Merlin wouldn’t shut up on his own, when he’d been warned and ordered to multiple times, then it would seem stronger measures were called for.

“I said enough!”, Leon growled, beyond furious. He shoved Merlin, hard enough to knock him over and to the floor, but Merlin did close his mouth at last. Leon was about to drive his point home when Gwen shrieked “Please! My brother is hurt! He needs somewhere warm.”

Leon continued to stare at Merlin, panting hard. It surprised him that Merlin didn’t look particularly intimidated. Instead, he looked..calculating. Assessing.

Well, leave it to Merlin to not even have the brains to realize just how close he’d come to his life being ended. 

Still shaking with rage, Leon whirled and left him on the ground. Merlin could stay and rot there for all he gave a stuff. Leon needed to find Lamia.

~~~~~~

Merlin didn’t stay on the ground, though. He kept a careful distance, but he did follow them all. When they found a chamber where Elyan could be looked after, Leon glared at Merlin, both a warning and a threat, that he’d better behave himself and toe the line from this point forward. Merlin had used up everyone’s good will.

Gwaine stayed to help Gwen with Elyan and would gather firewood while Leon and Percival continued to search for Lamia.

“You’ll stay here and you’ll do as Gwaine says--do I make myself clear?” Leon leaned in threateningly close to Merlin, taking all his personal space, and this time, this time Merlin did have the sense to lean away. Gwaine drove the point home, stomping an old wooden crate to kindling loudly. The implication was unmistakeable: “Any more of your nonsense, and...this crushed crate will be you.”

~~~~~~~

She’d betrayed them all. That sweet, innocent girl--Lamia. She was a monster with glowing serpent’s eyes, and she’d lured them all here, had tried to kill Percival. Leon had witnessed it himself.

He’d thought he’d been angry with Merlin before, but now--

He ran toward her, bellowing, sword raised for the kill. The need to kill her was the last coherent thought Leon had for several hours.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

The return trip to Camelot was excruciating. 

Leon felt as though he had the worst hangover of his life, without the fun usually associated with it beforehand. His head ached, his stomach churned, his back and shoulders and arse hurt. Gaius had explained to Leon and to all the knights that that “hungover” feeling, the muzziness, fatigue, nausea and sensitivity to light, were all the residual effect of the lamia’s spell on them. The old physician had been treating them with the same potion he’d cured the villagers with, and had told them he expected the symptoms to be gone completely in the next day or two. And Leon’s bruises were probably caused by direct contact with the creature, which is where Leon’s memory became fuzzy and faded. They would heal quickly enough, too. Leon was used to battle, after all.. He’d sustained a lot worse than this many times, as had his fellow knights.

They made a motley crew, the four of them, riding silent and grim together. They had talked together a bit while they’d been recovering, when Gaius had left them alone, asking each other what they’d remembered. For the most part, with the possible exception of Elyan, their answer was the same: Everything. 

Leon didn’t ask, but he had a pretty good idea that they all felt the same guilt, shame and embarrassment about those memories that he did too, despite Gaius’ repeated assurances that they’d been under an enchantment and hadn’t been completely in control of their faculties. It had all just...seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Now in the light of day though, he couldn’t imagine how he would have thought such a thing, to abandon a medical emergency for one person, even under the influence of a magical creature.

He twisted in his saddle to look behind him. Merlin was making the return journey home riding at Gaius’ side, and was apparently in the middle of a long and animated description of...something. Gaius was just looking at him fondly and indulgently, nodding occasionally, listening. Merlin seemed fine, though Leon knew Merlin had to be carrying some bruises after being pushed to the ground by an angry knight weighing close to seventy pounds more than he did. He turned back to face front again. There was Gwen, riding beside her king, beaming at him beatifically as always, with stars in her eyes. Neither Gwen nor Merlin seemed any worse for wear, but--

He was going to have to apologize to Merlin and to Gwen, humble himself before both of them for his abysmal behavior, even if he hadn’t been completely in control. Leon was no bully. 

~~~~~~~

Leon was never one to shirk his duty. The very day after their arrival back in Camelot, Leon walked in to the physician’s quarters. Gaius was at his worktable and raised an eyebrow in greeting. 

When Leon said nothing, though, just looked around the room, Gaius seemed to feel some prompting was in order.

“Sir Leon? May I be of assistance?”

“Uh--no. I’ve come to see Merlin, but I can see he’s not here, so I’ll come back--”

“He’s in his room”, Gaius said mildly, inclining his head slightly toward the half-open door at the top of the stairs. “I wanted him to rest--he sustained some rather painful bruising in his encounter with the creature, of course.”

“Really?” Leon said weakly. Was the old man teasing him? No doubt Merlin had told his guardian how he’d gotten those bruises...

Gaius’ expression was inscrutable. “Indeed.”And then “He’s a fast healer, though.”

Leon cringed inwardly and wondered if it showed outwardly. Even though Gaius was never anything but kind and solicitous to him, there were times when the old physician made him feel as he had as a boy, when he’d been caught doing something wrong and his father was about to punish him.

Except this time, Leon knew, he hadn’t really done anything wrong. He’d been ensorcelled.

After another long moment of watching Gaius’ unreadable expression remain unchanged, Gaius said, “You can go in if you wish. He’s reading at his desk.”

Leon nodded thanks and took the few steps up to Merlin’s bedroom. He knocked on the half-open door and waited until he heard Merlin’s “Come in” before entering the room completely. 

Merlin’s room was small and messy. There were books and papers, clothes, dried herbs, and some objects of indeterminate identification scattered everywhere. It contained only a few pieces of furniture--a cupboard, the tiny narrow bed that looked extremely uncomfortable, two bedside tables on either side, and the desk and chair that Merlin was seated at. He was turned toward Leon now, a half-smile, almost indulgent look on his face. He didn’t stand up from his seated position.

Some things would never change.

Well, Leon wasn’t here for that. He’d rehearsed to himself what he would say...

Before he could open his mouth, though, Merlin said quietly and with a hint of humor, “You’re right on schedule.”

“What’s that?” Leon asked.

“Elyan and Percival have been by to apologize, and Gwaine hasn’t stopped. I knew you’d be here eventually.”

Well, that was rather cheeky of Merlin, to say that. Presumptuous, even. 

Leon opened his mouth, closed it again. He looked at Merlin for a moment and then said, “Then I’ll just add my voice to the choir. I regret what happened on our recent mission, no matter how much or how little I was in control. I’m sure you know that I would not ever treat you like that, you or anyone else, normally.”

Merlin’s lips stretched to something like a smile and he seemed about to say something. 

“All right”, was what he settled on. And “It’s fine, Leon.”

Leon had satisfied his burden.He’d apologized and it had been accepted. He could just leave it at that. But--he wasn’t one to just take the easy way out. There was something about the way Merlin looked at him, the almost-patronizing way he’d said “It’s fine”. 

Leon knew it wasn’t fine with him. 

He was still standing while Merlin looked up at him from his sitting position, apparently waiting for him to leave, so Leon gave him a chance to speak his mind. 

“You believe otherwise?” he asked, keeping his face and voice as neutral as possible. He was good at that, after all. 

Merlin met his eyes, and turned and picked up the book he’d been reading. “I’ve been researching the lamia’s characteristics. What they do is simply enhance weaknesses to gain their victims. For example, Percival is so protective of women and children needing help, because he lost his family so recently, and he’s also the one most likely to defer to authority. Gwaine doesn’t like to be told what to do, even when it’s a suggestion from a friend. Elyan spent most of the time unconscious, but he has said before that he resents Gwen being so domineering and bossy to him when they were growing up. And you, Sir Leon...you’re all about duty and honor and doing the right thing, so you don’t like it when those below your station don’t behave appropriately to their betters.”

Leon stared for a moment, and then had to look away, off to his right. What could he say to that? 

After a moment Merlin said almost apologetically, “I wasn’t judging you, just telling you how I think the lamia accomplished what she did.”

Leon said, “And why weren't you affected, then? Have you come up with a theory for that?” Leon thought he might sound as petulant as he felt right now.

Merlin sounded somewhat tentative. “Not sure. Maybe because...my reason for being in Camelot is for the king, and he wasn’t with us? I really can’t say...”

Leon looked back at the far corner of the room, tried to think of something to say. What could he say? Maybe he should just go...

But then Leon blinked and registered what he was actually looking at. While the rest of Merlin’s room was a cornucopia of scattered disarray and disorganization, the small bedside table furthest from the door contained only two objects. They were carefully arranged, so obviously the most prized possessions in the room. 

Leon walked around the bed to get a closer look. 

Merlin stood up suddenly. “Er, Sir Leon...?” 

One of the objects was a small, exquisitely detailed wooden carving of a dragon, and why on earth Merlin would ever want something like that, a reminder of those horrendous abominations that had caused so much death and destruction in Camelot, Leon couldn’t even begin to guess...

But it was the other object, a small, flat, metallic piece--Leon picked it up, held it up to the light. 

Yes. It was what Leon had thought. The du Bois seal--Agravine’s seal, and Arthur’s mother’s, Queen Ygraine.

Why in the world would a manservant have such a thing? How had he gotten the sigil, something so valuable to a motherless son? A surge of outrage shot through Leon, but was just as quickly quelled. Leon realized, no, Merlin wasn’t a thief, however many other faults he might have. Leon was as convinced of that as he was of his own honesty.

Merlin had taken a couple of steps toward him now, but stopped when Leon turned to him. “This was the king’s mother’s, wasn’t it? Where did you get this, Merlin?” Leon spoke very carefully, making sure he didn’t sound accusing.

“Arthur gave it to me”, Merlin answered simply. “And yes, it did belong to his mother.”

“He gave it to you.” Leon repeated, and Merlin merely nodded. It was simply impossible to believe. A family seal like this was passed down within families, not given away to those in one’s employ. Why would Arthur do that? He knew Arthur was fond of him, but--

“When did Arthur give it to you?” Leon said aloud. He knew he was bordering on unmannerly, even rude, and this was Merlin’s home and the object was in his possession, but still--Leon needed to get to the bottom of this.

“During the Durocha attack, when we were on our way to the Isle of the Blessed. I...I --tried to give it back, I know what it means to him after all--but Arthur insisted. You know how stubborn he is...”

Leon’s mind suddenly flashed back to that night before Lancelot had been killed, when he’d seen Arthur pass something to Merlin at the campfire, and Merlin’s look of shocked, disbelieving pleasure. 

Well that explained quite a lot, really.

“Merlin”, he said very gently. “I think this was just a bit of a misunderstanding. You know that men behave differently when they believe they are about to die, as Arthur did then. They may give away valuable possessions such as this. He gave you a great compliment in entrusting this to you, but I think you’re not meant to keep it now.”

Merlin looked uncertain suddenly. “I don’t think he would take it back...” he said after a pause.

“No, of course he wouldn’t, not directly”, Leon agreed readily. “He wouldn’t embarrass you like that. So why don’t you help him, and return it to his rooms when he’s not there? I’m sure you would earn his gratitude for it.”

Yes, Leon knew that would work, appealing to Merlin’s sense of loyalty to Arthur. He really was quite devoted to the king, to his credit...

But a seal of nobility just did not belong to a peasant manservant. That was just the way things were.

Merlin suddenly moved forward, and took the sigil from Leon’s hand. He placed it carefully back to its’ original position on the table. “If you’ll pardon me, Sir Leon, I have to go. Arthur will be expecting his supper soon.”

Leon could take a hint, even if Merlin couldn’t. He walked back to the door, but turned back again without walking through. Merlin was still at the table, looking down at the carving and the sigil, his face cast in shadowed relief in the dim corner. “Merlin?” Leon asked.

Merlin seemed to shake himself. “I’ll take care of this”, he said firmly, and walked around the bed, heading for the door. 

Leon held out his hand. “No hard feelings then, about this recent business with the creature...”

“Sure”, Merlin answered. He said it like he meant it, but when he passed Leon, he didn’t shake his hand.

Merlin walked through Gaius’s workroom and grabbed his brown jacket from a hook by the door, leaving Leon still standing at the top of the steps. Leon had just been lectured, rejected and rebuffed--by a servant. After trying to apologize to him.

He glanced at the small bedside table and the sigil once more before descending the stairs. He was more convinced than ever now that Arthur and Merlin were lovers.

Less than a fortnight after, Arthur announced his intent to wed Guinevere.


	9. Chapter 9

Leon, Elyan, Percival and Gwaine were all summoned to the council room just after breakfast and before training. Leon was surprised to find that most of the old men who comprised the counsel, including the physician Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth, were already there, waiting patiently for the king to arrive. Agravaine was there as well, his face unreadable, though his body language was not that of a man who expected good news. He looked...sour. Displeased, even.

Oh, no...who were they going to war against now? Leon hadn’t heard any serious rumblings, but this kind of gathering never boded well.

Merlin was also present, waiting silently with them all, hands clasped behind his back and head down. Leon wondered if he knew anything--he usually knew the king’s business before the king did, it often seemed. If he did know, though, he wasn’t telling.

They all waited. Leon hated waiting, hated suspense. 

Finally, after what seemed an interminable wait, the heavy doors swung open and King Arthur made his entrance. Except--he wasn’t alone.

Gwen walked beside him, her hand resting lightly on the crook of his elbow--the girl who had grown up in Leon’s household, the daughter of his mother’s former maid. She certainly didn’t look like a maid now. She looked neither straight ahead, nor left or right. She had eyes only for her king, and she was beaming.

Leon knew what this was, he knew. He fought the urge to sigh, to groan.

As soon as they reached the head of the room, Arthur turned, still with Guinevere at his side, and wasted no time: 

“I’ve brought you all here this morning because I have joyous news to share. It is my utmost pleasure to announce that I have chosen the woman who will become my queen.” He took Gwen’s hand in his own then, and she smiled, a bit nervous and shy now with all eyes upon them. “Guinevere has agreed to become my wife.”

There was silence for a moment, save for some startled intakes of breath from some of the aged counselors in the room. Leon could see expressions of consternation and puzzlement settle upon many of the mens’ faces.

Leon could’ve sworn he felt Uther turning over in his grave. 

For some reason, Leon’s attention flitted to Merlin, who for once was standing in the shadows. He expected him to be cock a hoop over the news, but instead, his expression was...quietly pleased, almost as if this was a validation of expectations. He certainly didn’t look surprised--Arthur must have told him before now--but Leon might have expected him to be grinning inanely over this. He’d certainly been involved and encouraging it for long enough. 

But no...Merlin looked quietly accepting, perhaps even a bit...wistful.

Merlin was just full of surprises.

But one person who didn’t really ever surprise Leon, was Gwaine. Leon made the mistake of glancing at him as the awkward silence stretched from a moment into several. Gwaine was just grinning, a wide, amused, toothy smile. Leon could swear he was also chuckling a bit. 

Leon had no idea what Gwaine thought was so funny about this. A maidservant marrying a king...it was appalling. 

Someone--Leon wasn’t sure who--started clapping and as politeness dictated, everyone in the hall joined in.

After a moment of subdued applause, Arthur held up his hand for silence. “I am aware that our impending union is highly unorthodox, but know that no more worthy a queen could ever be by my side. A new age is coming--one where all will be treated as equals--and I am looking forward to the support and wise counsel of the woman I love as we usher a new dawn of hope and prosperity into Camelot.” He glanced at Gwen, who blushed prettily and wiped away a tear. He smiled at her tenderly.

Leon felt embarrassed by such an open display of unchecked, besotted emotion, and saw others look down or away. Agravaine looked like he had indigestion.

But Arthur wasn’t finished yet. “The Lady Guinevere has agreed that there is no reason to wait any further. Our wedding will take place one week from today.” And now there were murmurs in the hall, slight rustles as one turned to another to exchange looks of shock. This just wasn’t done, not this way!

And just when had Guinevere become a titled lady anyway?

“Beginning tomorrow, a great tournament will be held in my lady’s honor, a demonstration of the skill and bravery of Camelot’s knights. I have already ordered messengers sent to all of our allies with invitations to our celebration and the competition.”

Arthur was going to be laughed at, Leon thought despairingly. A king marrying a blacksmith’s daughter...he was going to become the biggest joke in the five kingdoms. And of course, a tournament would bring in anyone looking for free ale and entertainment...

The expectant, almost-confused silence stretched again while everyone waited for Arthur to continue speaking. Now Gwen wore that familiar lip-stretch non-smile she always did when she was uncertain or apprehensive. Arthur scanned the room with his eyes, and his expression seemed to harden slightly. It seemed that the rather lukewarm reception to his great announcement had been less than Arthur had hoped for.

Everyone in the room bowed respectfully as the king and his intended exited. It wasn’t until the heavy wooden doors had shut behind them that the hubbub of voices started up as everyone seemed to turn to those next to them with an opinion. Agravaine strode past them all without meeting anyone’s eyes, his face set in a determined mask. 

Well, this would keep the court’s tongues’ wagging at least until next Beltane.

There was nothing for it, of course. Leon knew exactly how he felt about it all, he knew how vastly inappropriate it was--hell, he knew that it just should not be happening. Royalty were supposed to marry royalty, not the offspring of blacksmiths! Not a woman Arthur had apparently kept company with unchaperoned, either--that was something disturbing, too. New age or not, some things were just sacrosanct. 

But Leon was a knight of Camelot, sworn to uphold his duty and to carry out the wishes of his king, whatever they may be and however he may feel about them. He reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time that month that his opinion just did not matter.

He would simply do what he always did, what was expected of him and needed of him: support and protect the king and queen, and ignore his own feelings.

Elyan was the first to leave the hall after Agravaine, probably to speak to his newly-betrothed sister in private. Leon wondered fleetingly if this had been a surprise to him too, if Arthur had even spoken to him beforehand about his intentions. And then Leon reminded himself that Arthur didn’t have to, he was the king. He didn’t have to do anything. It was none of Leon’s business, any of it. He stifled another sigh. 

Gwaine bumped his shoulder deliberately as they walked out the door, and Leon glared at him. Now him, at least, he could do something about. “Do you find something about this humorous, Sir Gwaine?” he asked haughtily. Really, he was in no mood for Gwaine and his usual antics right now.

“Ah, just contemplating on matters of the heart, is all. It loves who it loves, and there’s nothing for it.” How did Gwaine always manage to sound so mocking and instigating? 

Gwaine continued, almost gleefully, “Did you see the looks on those old farts’ faces? I think they expected cows and chickens to start mating together at any moment, for night to turn to day, for rainbows to fly out of everyone’s--” 

“That will do, Sir Gwaine.” Leon interrupted. Sometimes Gwaine was more annoyingly loquacious even than Merlin. “I believe you have training to begin? Or other work to do?”

He gritted his teeth when Gwaine just gave him another wide, cheeky grin and went off in the direction of the training field with Percival, who had wisely remained silent.

Leon lingered longer than he should have before joining them. He’d never felt quite so unsettled, really. He’d truly hoped that Arthur would have eventually committed to a strategic or political royal wedding at some point. This marriage to a peasant girl would benefit no one, would sully the reputation of Camelot and weaken the royal bloodline. 

‘The heart loves who it loves’, Gwaine had said, an unusually idiotic statement even for him. What did love have to do with anything? Who married for love anyway? Honestly...

Loyalty. Duty. Honor. Nobility. Leon would carry out his obligations and put on a happy face. He’d do what was expected of him. He was a knight of Camelot.

But it wouldn’t surprise him one bit if the grass suddenly grew blue, or the rain fell green, or people started coming back from the dead...  
~~~~~~  
Sir Leon very rarely suffered from insomnia. Most of his days saw him very physically active, between training, riding and whatever else he was called upon to do as a knight. As such, he was pleasantly tired on most nights when it came time to retire, and he was usually snoring within fifteen minutes of laying down in his bed. 

But not on this night. No, this night Leon had tried to will himself to somnolence for nearly an hour before giving up, getting up, and putting on casual trousers, tunic, jacket and boots. He decided that he would walk a bit, perhaps go up to the one of the parapets and look out over the sleeping city. Maybe that would help settle his thoughts.

Leon quietly walked the long corridors of the palace, nodding to the occasional guard or knight on graveyard duty. They seemed somewhat startled to see him up and about at this hour. The torch Leon carried flickered as he walked, casting everything in dim light and shadows.

He passed the corridor that lead to the king’s chambers and the unwanted question of whether or not he was with Gwen this night immediately skittered about in his mind, but he forced himself to continue on walking without another glance. ‘Not my business’, Leon repeated his silent mantra to himself. And ‘Gwen is soon to be Camelot’s queen, my queen...’ The self-reminder didn’t quench his need to sigh again though, deeply and wearily. 

It was a humiliating thought--the same girl he grew up with, whose mother had served his mother...would now be second only to Arthur in the kingdom, and Leon would be expected to bow to her, to show her acquiesce and deference and to vow fealty....not to just a commoner, but to a peasant- maidservant, crowned queen.

Leon couldn’t think of much of anything that could be more demeaning. He felt a new wave of sympathy for the noble-born knights who had put up such a row over the arrival of the peasant-born knights. This was a hundred times worse. This was the “new age” Arthur spoke of, the shining kingdom he was intent upon building.

Leon just fervently hoped Arthur knew what he was doing.

He climbed the steep stairs upward, each step seeming to add to his weight of resigned depression. When he finally emerged outside amongst the castle parapets, he all but gasped for air, and not from the exercise.

It was a lovely balmy night with a full moon, and Leon felt himself calming just at the sight of Camelot in darkness. The kingdom was so beautiful, so rich and diverse and teaming with people, good people, from all walks of life. Of course, at this hour most of the city’s subjects, at least those who were not burdened with Leon’s heavy disappointment and worry, were fast asleep in their beds. There were only occasional lights here and there, mostly lanterns and street lamps lit for safety’s sake in the upper towns. Leon could just make out the tavern from his vantage point too, which never seemed to close. He wondered idly if Gwaine had taken Elyan and Percival out drinking this night, to “celebrate.” There were those, Leon reminded himself, who were almost as happy with these changes and this upheaval as Gwen herself.

He couldn’t even resent Gwen personally. Leon knew that Guinevere's heart was good and that she would have the love of the common people (those that were not green with envy, anyway). She’d already demonstrated her ability to champion for the common good and even to influence the council as well as bring a fresh perspective. And Leon believed she did love the king, or at least the side of him Arthur always presented to her. She’d risked her life for Arthur, and hell, even for Leon, helping him escape Morgana’s dungeon during the attempted coup and had been admirably brave and steadfast. And Guinevere must be making the king very happy indeed to have him risk his reputation as sovereign and throw away all of the political opportunities marrying so far below his station would mean. There would be negative repercussions for that, however much Arthur chose to ignore the fact. It was only a matter of time. Gwen being a nice person didn’t make her any more fit to be queen.

And there would be a steep learning curve for Guinevere too--there were so many things that Gwen did not know regarding matters of state. Even though she’d been at court for close to a decade, she hadn’t been taught how to behave as a royal. There were so many details, big and small, that would be expected of her as queen. Royals were trained from the moment they were born on how to speak, (and when to speak), even how to move. Leon knew that a blacksmith’s daughter, a former lady’s maid, a seamstress...simply wasn’t appropriate for the role. It had been hell to gain acceptance for Lancelot, Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine, and even now, almost two years later, that acceptance was still very tentative and grudging.

Leon had never been one to dwell on things he could not change, and as a knight of the realm, he knew he had no right to these feelings anyway. It was unworthy of him, this disapproval and worriment. He simply was going to have to find a way to accept this...whatever the cost to Camelot and King Arthur’s reputation.

Leon was contemplating on just that when he sensed he was not alone, had not been alone since he’d arrived. There was a tall, gangly figure leaning against the first column that Leon recognized even in the dim torchlight: Merlin. 

What was he doing up here at this hour, anyway? Leon felt a wave of irritation sweep over him. He was in no mood to listen to Merlin gushing over the impending nuptials. He was going to shut him down if he started prattling on.

“Good evening, Sir Leon.”

“Merlin”. 

Leon waited a moment, but Merlin said nothing more. He was half-turned away from Leon, studying the view of the city before them. Leon couldn’t make out his expression at all, and Merlin’s greeting to him had been simply polite, giving nothing away.

As the unusual silence continued--not a companionable or comfortable quiet at all, now--Leon began to wonder if perhaps there might be more purpose to Merlin being up here than admiring the view. Had he realized that this marriage would bring changes for himself too? That Merlin’s friend and equal would now sit beside Arthur at all times, and that there would be no more giggling and commiserating with Gwen, his friend and equal of many years, for they would no longer be anything nearing the same in status? Maybe Merlin was feeling a tad introspective, melancholy, displaced? And if he and Arthur were in fact lovers, (Leon still wavered on his opinion on that), things were about to become quite a bit more complicated. Merlin would always be a servant, of that Leon was certain--one of the few constants he knew would never change. But was Merlin resenting that fact? Merlin always had seemed to think of himself as more than what he was, the poor sod.

“Something on your mind, Merlin?’, Leon asked quietly. He’d vowed to squelch Merlin’s prattling, but now here he was encouraging it...

“Just thinking”, Merlin answered softly. “I once told Arthur that an unhappy king does not make a better ruler. Gwen will make him very happy.”

Oh, here it was. Leon’s concerns for Merlin stropping were unfounded, it seemed. He hummed non-committally in response.

“You do not approve”, Merlin said, just as quietly. It was not a question.

Leon felt his irritation rise again. That was very rude, and was none of Merlin’s business. “It is not for any of us to have an opinion, Merlin. The king has announced his intent. Our duty is to show loyalty and support. That is all. It is certainly not to gossip--”

“Gwen will be a very good queen, don’t you think?”, Merlin said, and Leon fought not to roll his eyes. He had known it. Merlin was about to expound on all of Gwen’s many virtues. “ She knows what the people want and need, and her ascension will demonstrate that people can move past convention and better themselves. That is your concern, isn’t it? That things are changing far too quickly?”

If Merlin’s voice had held a trace of insolence or guile, Leon would have cut him off and maybe even dragged him down the stairs to spend a night in the dungeon. But Merlin’s voice was low and steady and unaccusing. 

“I have no opinion on the matter”, Leon lied. “I am loyal to the king.”

“I know”, Merlin whispered. And then, “So is Gwen. She truly loves him”, Merlin repeated, and Leon began to wonder if he wasn’t just trying to convince Leon. “Arthur said that he admires that she will not just float about the castle, telling him what he wants to hear.”

“Is that so?” Leon said, very dryly, because it was all just so ridiculous, coming from a servant. “Tell me, Merlin, can you remember a time when she disagreed with him? Any time recently, within the last year or two?”

And now Merlin turned fully toward Leon, and Leon could just make out his expression in the torchlight. He seemed genuinely startled.

“Um” Merlin said insightfully, and Leon had to fight not to snort. Merlin pursed his lips and seemed to be thinking very hard. And then, “We are not with them all the time, after all. We don’t know...she alluded to the idea that she had.” Leon just looked at him expectantly, and after a moment Merlin added “Once. Awhile back...a few years back.”

Leon really did snort then and looked away. He supposed he really should be getting back to bed soon. This “conversation” was pointless. 

Perhaps Gwen really was what Arthur needed in a wife--besides being a liaison to the common people, she’d always defer to him, was so besotted with him that she’d always be there to tell him how wonderful he was and not necessarily tell him when he was being an arse. 

Merlin seemed to be locked into the position of Arthur’s truth-teller...

“Do you and Guinevere always talk about Arthur, then?” 

Leon hadn’t meant for that to be said aloud, was a bit embarrassed to have blurted it, but he had wondered about that today too--this “friendship” that Gwen and Merlin shared, or at least had shared. Leon thought that it might orbit around Arthur these days. 

Merlin quirked his mouth at Leon wryly and the effect in the torchlight highlighted his sharp cheekbones. He seemed about to say something, to answer Leon, when they were both distracted by the distant but distinct sound of hooves on cobblestone, far below in the courtyard. It was dark, but--

“Agravaine”, Merlin muttered, and his face actually seemed to darken.

Yes, it was Lord Agravaine, but--how much did Merlin know? Had Gwaine shared his beliefs with him, or did Merlin just still hold a grudge over the incident with Gaius’ abduction and the accusations of sorcery?

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation”, Leon said neutrally. Best not to fan any flames.

“After midnight?”, Merlin said incredulously, gesturing below to where Agravaine must have disappeared into the night. 

It wasn’t Merlin’s concern, whatever Lord Agravaine might be up to. Leon knew that much, anyway.. Leon decided that it was time this little unplanned late night meeting be terminated.

“It is late, you’re right, and time for both of us to retire. Good night, Merlin”. Without waiting for a response, Leon turned back towards the door to the stairs. Leon glanced back over his shoulder once more before descending. He could only distinguish Merlin’s outline now, not his expression, but Merlin was still gazing in the direction Agravaine must have taken. Leon felt obligated to add, “I’m sure there’s no need for concern.” Another untruth, that.

Merlin didn’t answer, and hadn’t moved when Leon decided again to give sleep another try. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Leon had been summoned to the king’s chambers. 

It was the morning of the first day of the tournament, and Leon had planned on taking early archery practice, but here he was, striding down the corridor to the heavy double doors leading to Arthur’s apartments. He had schooled his mind not to wonder why the king would have him appear in this manner; speculation was for the foolish, after all, and he’d know soon enough.

He could think of no reason, truthfully. He simply kept marching with purpose towards where he’s been told to go.

When Leon reached the heavy wooden doors to Arthur’s rooms, it was as if they were an inconvenience to what needed to be done. He halted with a sharp snap, and knocked on the oaken doors, once, twice, thrice, expecting Arthur’s immediate “Enter!” as always.

Instead, Merlin opened the door, smiled politely at him, and let him in. And then Merlin went about finishing what Leon’s arrival had obviously interrupted: Dressing Arthur in his armor.

It still rather bewildered Leon, even though he’d witnessed this dozens of times before: How someone so awkward and graceless and with such absurd ears as Merlin could move with such single-minded application and surety as now, confidently tightening and fastening buckles, settling and adjusting polished and engraved metal into place, and presenting the king with his sword finally, all as if he were born to be a squire. Merlin moved round Arthur almost as if dancing, and once again, Leon felt that familiar out of place discomfort, as if he were witnessing a moment of intimacy between these two that should be private . 

Arthur greeted Leon jovially and stood still until Merlin declared his fussing finished. Then the king bid his knight captain to sit at his table, already pulling out his own chair while Merlin gathered up polishing cloths and spare sword belts and mail gloves and moved to the sleeping part of Arthur’s chambers. Leon noticed that Arthur’s bed had not yet been made up. His own servant had had that taken care of and breakfast waiting within fifteen minutes of Leon’s waking.

“Are you as excited about the tourney as I am?” Arthur asked, and Leon answered in the affirmative, though he seriously doubted that anyone was as excited about anything as Arthur these days. They spoke of their expectations for a few moments, almost as old friends might, until Merlin dropped something noisily--probably Arthur’s chamber pot--and Arthur turned to him in exasperation. 

“Merlin! Can’t you do anything quietly?!” Yet there was no heat in the king’s voice, and Merlin just grinned madly at him.

“Come here”, Arthur ordered him gruffly, and Merlin and all his long, gangly elbows and knees made his way to the table where Leon and the king were sitting. “You keep leaving your things in my chambers, idiot. Leave it all in your own sty, for goodness sake, will you?” And Arthur reached over to the chair next to him, opposite where Leon was sitting, and picked up something. A small, flat, metallic object--

Queen Ygraine’s seal. 

He handed it to Merlin without another word, and Merlin took it, bowing slightly--a bit sarcastically, Leon thought, but was there any other way with Merlin?-- “Of course, Sire. Sorry, Sire. Thank you, Sire” Merlin tucked the sigil inside his obsequious brown jacket and went back to his work on the other side of the room at Arthur’s dismissive wave. Merlin did not look at Leon once during the entire exchange.

Was this little show for Leon? He was almost certain that Merlin, the little turd, had said something to Arthur about their post-lamia conversation. Was this the reason for Leon’s meeting with Arthur? Was Arthur making a point? Leon said nothing at all, but could feel his face heating with humiliation. 

And then Leon felt his face redden even more when another thought struck him: The king was about to be married, and his mother’s seal was not being given to his bride-to-be. 

He was saved from pursuing that line of thought any further when Arthur asked, “How is your new bride, Leon? Will she be joining you here in Camelot for the wedding?” 

“Uh--I’m afraid not, Sire. The Lady Fleta is of a delicate constitution. I’m afraid the trip would be somewhat overwhelming for her.” It was actually only a half-truth--something Leon found himself telling alarmingly frequently these days. He really didn’t think Fleta fit enough for a trip to Camelot at this point, but truth be told, he had not even considered sending for her. She was unable to socialize appropriately, after all--and Leon was so off-balance about who the king was marrying...

Declining a royal invitation was extremely bad form, ungracious, a serious breach of etiquette--but Leon did not know how else to handle it. He was embarrassed, both by his new bride’s awkwardness and by his king’s choice of a queen. Arthur didn’t need to know that though...

Arthur did, however, allow his disappointment to show. “Ah, well. Guinevere and I look forward to meeting her at such time she is able to make the journey.”

“Thank you, Sire”. Leon bowed his head to the king.

“Well. You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here, so I will not beat around the bush further. In speaking with my future bride last evening, we have decided to ask of you a great favor...”

“Of course. Anything, my king.”

“Before I ask--well, this isn’t even a request, this is kind of a...scouting mission. A preliminary asking, if you will. It’s rather serious, and you will want to consider it carefully before agreeing to it, if you agree to it. If you do not, that is fine, we will both understand. I--we--that is, Guinevere and I are aware that these are very unusual circumstances, it’s never been done before, so we really have no guidelines on which to go by, so we’re really just...ah. Well. You know.” Arthur’s nonsensical soliloquy ground to a halt, finally. 

Leon didn’t know, not at all. He really had no idea what Arthur had even just said.

Across the room, Merlin made a coughing sound that might have been a chuckle. 

“Arthur?” Leon said. “Did you mean to ask something of me?”

Arthur nodded as if suddenly reminded of something. “As you are no doubt aware, no king has ever married a...err...non-royal bride before...”

“He means a peasant girl”, Merlin supplied helpfully, walking past the the table to retrieve something by the fireplace.  
Yes, Leon had known what Arthur meant. 

Arthur frowned at Merlin but continued, “That means that some traditions are a bit more challenging to carrying out. There is an important role, usually passed down generations, that must be filled by a worthy man. Gwen and I considered asking Sir Elyan, her brother, to the role, but then thought that a more...well-known and established candidate might be best...” Arthur’s voice again trailed off, and he appeared to be studying Leon’s expression. Leon, for his part, felt like his brain had stalled. He still didn’t know what this was about. He frowned slightly at the king, waiting.

“Tradition dictates that there is a brief ceremony after the coronation of the queen, which will take place directly after the wedding. The Queen’s Champion will be named at that time.” Arthur let his words hang in the air for a moment, and Leon felt rather like time had stopped. What? What had he just said? What was expected of Leon?

“You are my most trusted and loyal knight, Sir Leon, and you have known the Lady Guinevere nearly all her life. We would like to ask you to consider being the Queen’s Champion.”

Leon didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Queen’s Champion. It was an outstanding honor as well as charge--it meant he would be the new queen’s protector, and would fight to the death anyone who would dare challenge her right to be queen. It was not just a symbolic title, but an active duty that would last until his or the queen’s death. 

“Sir Leon?” Arthur said, and then “Leon!”

Leon finally snapped out of his reverie. “Forgive me, Sire, I am just a bit shocked..”

Arthur chuckled lightly. “Of course, I understand. You do not have to give me your answer now. The wedding is not for another five days, after all.”

His answer. Leon was expected to answer. And this was no “request”, no matter how Arthur tried to couch it in politeness and choice. He had no choice--a declination would be a terrible insult to the king and to Gwen, would besmirch Leon’s character. Arthur had “honored” him by trapping him--tying him to the queen, a queen he had not yet accepted, for the rest of his life. 

Leon was not sure how he felt about this at all. 

But Arthur was smiling, taking Leon’s silence as being overwhelmed with the gift he’d bestowed upon Leon--and was the king really so blind and deluded in his infatuation that he would never consider the impact of all of this? Did he really care so little about the dignity and reputation of himself, his kingdom and those who served him? 

“I am sure that Guinevere will want to speak with you too, and ask you formally. You will come to us, won’t you, if you have any concerns? Remember that you may speak freely...”

Leon just bowed his head again slightly. What could he say? He couldn’t say anything. 

Merlin called from the window, “The tournament grounds are filling rapidly!” They could hear the sounds of crowds of people in the streets below, even early as it still was.

“I suppose we should be making our way there”, Arthur said, still in that “friends talking to friends” tone he sometimes used when it was just Arthur and the knights out on patrol together. With Merlin too, naturally....

It was another nonsense sentence from Arthur. There was no “we” making their way to the tournament, today or any other day. Leon would arrive with the other knights, while Arthur would appear amongst great fanfare, probably with Gwen on his arm. He was the king, after all, and she would be the queen in less than a week.

Arthur stood, signalling the end of their meeting, and Leon murmured something that might have been “Thank you Sire” or could have been something else. He felt so discombobulated at that point that he wasn’t sure. But Arthur smiled, and extended his arm to shake, and called him “old friend”. 

Leon next found himself out in the corridor and walking towards his chambers, wondering despairingly how a nobleman knight had come to be Queen’s Champion to a maidservant. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Leon took a few moments in solitude in his rooms, sipping water and repeating to himself the words of the charge given to all knights: 

“...and always to do ladies, damsels, and gentle women succour. Also, to take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law nor for no world's goods. To be for all ladies and fight for their quarrels, and ever be courteous and never refuse mercy to him that ask mercy, for a knight that is courteous and kind and gentle has favor in every place. To never hold a lady or gentle woman against her will....”

There was more, of course, but this passage in particular seemed to be speaking to Leon now. As always, the ancient, beautiful words filled his heart and calmed his nerves, for they were not just words. Like a prayer, the litany that was the Knight’s Code reminded Leon of his duty and honor to serve, even when he did not agree with what was asked of him. What could he do but accept the will of his king? It was what it was, and if he agreed or disagreed changed nothing.

He had performed difficult and even abhorrent acts for King Uther, and Arthur was, to Leon’s way of thinking, even more worthy of Leon’s fealty. And-- Leon was forever reminding himself (not to mention Merlin) that one’s own opinions in the face of the king’s wishes did not matter--and it seemed that now more than ever he was being called upon to show his mettle and demonstrate his humility. He would do everything in his power to serve Camelot, and if that included extending that code to Arthur’s peasant bride...then Leon would have to find a way to accept that, just as he’d accepted knights that were not of noble blood. The Code spoke of ladies and noblewomen, but Leon knew that it must extend to all, even commoners, even peasants. They must be the “damsels” mentioned...

He took several deep, deep breaths, willing his mind clear and steady for both the competition ahead and the challenge he would undertake in less than a week. When his squire rapped on his door and informed him it was time to head for the tournament grounds, Leon was ready.

~~~~~~~

Just as Leon had predicted, the king made his way to the tournament grounds amidst the sound of trumpeters, his soon-to-be wife on his arm. He handed Guinevere off to his uncle in the royal box (Agravaine was still wearing that same rather dour, overly solicitous look that Leon didn’t believe for a moment was actually sincere), and made a brief speech while standing in the middle of the grounds. The crowd had come to see feats of skill and derring-do, and not so much to listen to a royal pontification, but a massive cheer erupted when Arthur kept it very brief and introduced the “queen-to-be” to the spectators. Arthur even had Gwen stand and wave, which she did in the most demure, embarrassed, yet oh-so-thrilled manner. 

Leon was just relieved when Arthur finally called “Let the tournament begin!”

~~~~~~~

With Leon finally able to get down to the business at hand, his spirits and his focus both rose considerably. He did very well in the archery competition and would be exiting with a full purse for his efforts. And there had been rings of flowers set on a pole parallel to the royal box where Gwen and Agravaine were observing, (rings, to symbolize the upcoming marriage, apparently), and Leon had been the first, even before the king, to present the future queen with a flowered gift on the end of his lance after he’d been successful in his first round in jousting.

He supposed it was fitting, after all--he was to be her Champion.

Merlin and Gaius were in their customary places just at the end of field, ready to aid anyone who sustained injury, and Leon was watching from just outside his tent. Arthur next speared a ring for his chosen and presented it to her with an almost concentrated look of seriousness that quickly dissolved when she smirked at him, as if to say she knew what he was up to and had something of her own up her sleeve as well. When Arthur galloped in and tossed his helmet to Merlin, Leon was close enough to overhear Merlin chiding the king about his choice of an engagement present. As cheeky as Merlin was, he did have a point. 

Percival was next to give Gwen another floral ring--she was amassing quite a collection. Percival, the shy farmboy knight, looked incredibly pleased with himself, judging by the size of his boyish grin. She stepped down once again to accept the ring graciously, also beaming . The crowd was raucous in their approval. If there were any naysayers about, either from Camelot or beyond, they hadn’t turned out this day. The demonstration of catching rings on the end of one’s lance was really rather simplistic and didn’t require that much skill, but the crowd didn’t seem to care--there was simply a feeling of excitement and anticipation permeating the air in Camelot.

Leon signaled to his squire and was about to enter his tent and have Merek remove his armor for him when a suited rider on a dappled steed took his place at the end of the field and was handed a lance. Leon didn’t recognize him at all--could he be a visiting noble from another realm, perhaps? There really hadn't been time yet, most visitors weren’t expected to arrive or compete until tomorrow. Leon saw both Arthur and Merlin move forward slightly, as intrigued and puzzled as himself. Had this knight declared himself...?

He was certainly assured in his saddle, whomever he might be, and his horse was very swift indeed. The rider claimed the flowered ring effortlessly and cantered until he was even with the royal box and its occupants. The crowd cheered noisily once again, waving their banners. Leon leaned forward too, anticipating his presentation of the prize to Gwen. Custom and courtesy dictated that he revealed his face when he did so.

Gwen stepped down slowly, almost shyly, obviously as curious about this unknown well wisher as Leon. She smiled politely, and waited. 

The helmet came off, and she wasn’t smiling any longer. Leon felt his heart begin to thud with almost painful intensity. Lancelot!

But how could this be?

For some unknown reason, Leon’s next instinct was to look at Merlin. Yes. His mouth was agape, his eyes bugging from their sockets, and he resembled a trout. And Arthur’s jaw seemed to be unhinged. 

What was it smart-arsed Gwaine had said so mockingly, just the day before, about what might happen when nobility and peasants mixed? Cows and chickens mating, grass turning blue, people coming back from the dead...? Well---

~~~~~~~ 

It was confusion for quite some time after that. Lancelot wheeled his horse around and cantered to almost in front of Arthur, leaving Guinevere still standing with the same dazed, bewildered look on her face. Lancelot then dismounted, bowed to the king, and waited. 

Arthur just stared. So did Merlin--and he hadn’t managed to close his mouth yet.

Leon was once again reminded that some of his knights had not been raised in court when Percival broke the stunned silence and rushed forward, wrapping Lancelot in a bear hug and lifting the smaller man off his feet. Bedlam and chaos seemed to erupt then, knights and guards all swarming around the returned knight, asking over and over again, “Where did you come from ?” and “How are you alive?”, trying to shake his hand and welcome him home.

It was the king himself who finally declared in his court voice, “There will be no further competition for today. A private feast will be held in honor of our returned hero. Sir Lancelot, welcome home.” And with a quick dip of his head to Lancelot, Arthur was striding away toward the royal viewing box, presumably to gather his betrothed and escort her to said feast. 

As the crowd began to thin, Leon’s only thought was how awkward this was all going to be, for Lancelot and Arthur and most of all, for the future Queen Guinevere.

~~~~~~~

Lancelot was...different. Changed. Oh, not in any bad way, of course. It was just that now, having the time to observe the most noble member of their Round Table in the banquet hall before the king arrived, Leon could see that his experiences--whatever they had been-- since stepping through the veil had left their mark on him. It was in the way he interacted with all of them, particularly those he’d been closest to before--Merlin and Sir Percival foremost. Sir Lancelot had always been a quiet, reserved man who held himself just a little apart from everyone, but now he seemed almost...detached. Aloof, even. Lancelot had all but straight-armed Percival when the big man tried to embrace Lancelot again, and greeted Merlin as he did any other and asked him to bring more wine. Leon noted too that Merlin and Percival had reacted to this changed friend with wounded looks of puzzlement. Why Lancelot remained so distant now that he was home and safe could not even be guessed at, but...Leon had seen men return home from harrowing battle and scourge, and thought that he might have some idea. 

Repeated attempts to have Lancelot tell the tale of how he’d escaped the clutches of the veil between worlds were all for naught--Lancelot had merely pleaded for patience and that he would tell all that he knew as soon as the king and his intended arrived. And then he’d added that he hoped he wouldn’t disappoint them all. 

There was another of those awkward pauses, and then Percival said carefully, tentatively, “You must have heard then, that the king and Guinevere will be wed in five days’ time...” 

“I have indeed heard, while on my travels here”, Lancelot replied at once, without a flicker of unsteadiness, and wasn’t that just something. “It would be, after all, somewhat difficult not to hear of such a joyous announcement. I look forward to the happy couple’s arrival this evening and wishing them both well. I know their union will be a fortuitous one.” He turned to Elyan then, who so far seemed to grow a bit quiet and still at any mention of his sister’s upcoming wedding. “And I also wish to extend hearty congratulations to he who soon will be the king’s brother in law...”

That brought smiles and pats on the back all around. Bless Lancelot, he hadn’t lost his flair for diplomacy. 

Not long after, the king and Gwen appeared, and everyone sat down for the celebratory feast. 

~~~~~  
Lancelot finally did agree to tell his tale of return, once they’d all eaten their fill. “I fear I remember very little after the moment I stepped through the veil”, he began apologetically. “My story will not be as illuminating as I would like.”

Leon had switched from observing Lancelot to observing Arthur...who looked, inexplicably, worn out and exhausted.

“We’re just pleased to see you”, Arthur assured Lancelot. “Well...pleased and amazed.”

Amazed, Leon believed, but not pleased. Arthur wasn’t really, not at all. Leon had seen the king pleased before, and this wasn’t it. The king said all the right words, but his welcome did not reach his eyes or his tone. 

Leon couldn’t blame him, not really. Who wanted a former suitor of one’s intended to return from the dead, just before one’s wedding ceremony? King or not, knight or not, Arthur was still a man...could he still be insecure when it came to Guinevere’s feelings for this old flame? 

Leon wondered if Arthur might have wished Lancelot to have stayed “dead”.

Gwen, for her part, said nothing at all, but her pinched, tight expression suggested constipation and also said far more than words might.

Lancelot seemed to hasten to continue his explanation. “I owe everything to the Mudhabi people. When they found me I was near death.” Lancelot paused, drew a breath and shrugged. “Luckily for me their customs dictate that they must give food and shelter to the needy...and I certainly was that.” 

“Where did they find you?” Leon asked.

“On one of the Silk Road passes, high in the Feorre Mountains. “

“Cendred’s kingdom”, Gwaine interjected.

Lancelot nodded his agreement. “I traveled with them for many weeks, deep into the deserts of the south. Then slowly my strengths returned.” Lancelot poured himself more wine. Merlin, of course, was rooted to the floor and made new move to do what should have been his job. 

“When I was able I earned my passage the only way I know how: By the sword.” He gave a small, wry smile, and all at the table returned it. Then I slowly made my way north.”

“You made your way home” Arthur finished for him, and Lancelot nodded. The two held each other’s gaze a moment, and without breaking the eye contact, Arthur reached for Gwen’s hand possessively. She closed her eyes briefly and then turned and gazed at her king, squeezed his hand. 

If that wasn’t a loud and clear statement, Leon didn’t know what was. Some things just didn’t need words.

Leon saw Agravaine, seated directly across from Gwen, quirk his mouth slightly at the sight. 

“We can’t thank you enough for what you sacrificed on the Isle of the Blessed. It will be remembered always.” Again, the right words from Arthur, but his actions and body language said differently. 

Lancelot shook his head slightly and took a deep breath. Leon could just imagine the thoughts and emotion he must be struck with. Gracious as always, he said only, “It is indeed good to see you all once again.”

Lancelot stood then, and grabbed his goblet. “I would like to propose a toast.” All at the table took up their own goblets as well, and even Gwen seemed to truly look at Lancelot. “To the people I hold most dear. To Camelot!” And Lancelot smiled again.

“To Camelot!” All at the table repeated.

“To Camelot”, Arthur echoed quietly. 

Leon noticed only then that Merlin hadn’t joined in the toast, hadn’t said anything at all. That wouldn’t be unusual at all for most servants, but this was Merlin, after all. He never followed protocol, and Lancelot was a dear friend. Or...had been.

Merlin had been staring at Lancelot with that pursed-lip intensity of his for the better part of the evening. 

~~~~~~

The gathering ended not long after when Arthur made his exit, Gwen’s hand on his arm, and everyone stood respectfully. Leon knew that Gwen was still living in her tiny shack at the edge of town, and wondered for a moment why Elyan wasn’t seeing her safely home....

But then Lancelot made his apologies too, saying that his journey had been long and he was exhausted. All of the knights, including Leon himself, tried to persuade him to come with them to the tavern to relax and recover, but no. Lancelot wanted only to retire for the evening.

Except--there were no chambers ready for him within the palace. The steward hadn’t been informed... It wasn’t as if Lancelot had announced his arrival, after all. 

Merlin solved the dilemma caused by the failure to communicate properly by stating that there was room at the quarters he shared with Gaius. So, Merlin had finally found his voice tonight. Lancelot departed with Merlin, and Leon went with Gwaine, Percival and Elyan to the Rising Sun.

~~~~~~~~~~

They shouldn’t have gone to the tavern. 

They weren’t even that pissed, Leon and the other knights, but they’d forgotten that there were plenty of foreigners finding their way into Camelot, for both the upcoming wedding and the tournament. They’d all just been so elated and amazed by the return of their brother of the round table that they’d all naively thought everyone else would be too.

The heckling had started almost as soon as they’d sat down...something about “The king does like his peasants”. Insults were exchanged, and then some wise arse threw ale at Elyan. Percival helped Leon diffuse that situation and “invited” the miscreants involved to leave. Leon thought that would take care of the problem, and things were quiet for a time. But then Gwaine went out to take a leak, and came back to a tavern in full brawl. Leon didn’t think he’d even known what the fight was about, but he took one look around and threw himself on top of the biggest heap just for old time’s sake, and things deteriorated beyond salvaging after that. 

They were all kicked out, the lot of them, even though Leon and the other knights hadn’t started the altercation, not by a long shot. 

They helped to hold each other up on the way back to the palace, and Gwaine taught them some songs he knew. He was also trying to help Percival walk, though Percival wound up carrying him. He only dropped Gwaine once, too--really no need for the other long haired man to make such a fuss. They all talked about how Percival had no sleeves, and how much they wished Lancelot had come with them, even though he hardly ever got soused and was a wet blanket at times. Elyan giggled a lot.

Leon knew he himself was not that affected by the mead. He made sure he had everyone sorted out and tucked in their chambers before face planting on his own bed. Sunrise wouldn’t be far away, after all, and he was competing in jousting in the morning. He needed to rest. 

He fell asleep to the sound of Gwaine still singing from down the hall...or maybe that was some cats mating...caterwauling. Heh. Leon probably should go down and check on Gwaine, make sure he wasn’t in pain or anything, but he was snoring before he could act on the thought.

~~~~~~~  
Okay, maybe Leon had been affected by the mead somewhat. His muzzy head and fuzzy mouth certainly seemed to think so. 

Sunrise had come far too early once again, but at least Leon found himself feeling a little better once he’d washed, dressed and eaten. Today was the jousting finals at the tournament, and Leon felt in his bones that it would be a very good day. He thought he’d go to the field a little early today, before the heavy crowds began to show, maybe take a few runs at a practice dummy to limber up.

He made his way through the early-morning bustle of the palace corridors with purpose. Already guests were beginning to arrive for the wedding and preparations were being made for their lodging. Perhaps tomorrow, Leon might be able to organize a grand hunt and bring back meat for the wedding feast...

So caught up in his musings for what would follow that he nearly bumped into one of the chambermaids, loaded down with various linens. Fine linens. 

Where would she be going in this part of the castle? This was where King Uther’s old quarters were...

“Where are you going?” he asked the dark-haired girl, and she blushed and murmured “Preparin’ the new queen’s rooms for her, Sire” before scurrying away. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Leon followed her. He had a sneaking suspicion...

Across and just down from Uther’s former chambers was another very large set of rooms. The general belief amongst the palace occupants was that it had not been opened for over twenty years, not since Arthur’s birth and Queen Ygraine’s death. Uther had ordered them sealed right about the same time he’d ordered the Great Purge. 

Arthur must be giving his mother’s old rooms to Gwen. The Queen’s quarters. 

Leon heard the activity before he saw. When he did see, he could only gape for a moment. 

The room was perfectly preserved, as if its occupant had simply left for a moment and would return shortly. Everything was coated with an inch or more of dust, but judging by the soapy buckets being carried in, that would be a thing of the past too within moments. The dressing table was still arranged with ornately carved brush, comb and perfume bottles. The fine oak wardrobe in the corner with its elaborate, beautiful carvings stood with one door slightly ajar, a dressing gown, yellowed with age, hanging from it. The feminine tapestry that adorned the bed must have been lovely once, though now was in sordid shape. A full, dusty bookcase, several ornate trunks, a needlework frame, a tiny cradle...

It was like stepping back in time. Leon didn’t like it--he felt as though he was somehow intruding upon something, perhaps the memory of Ygraine herself. He wondered if Arthur had seen the rooms this way.

Arthur was disturbing all this, rooms his father had had sealed and preserved in Ygraine’s memory, and giving them to a girl who would have been doing the dusting and cleaning herself a week ago. 

As many times as Leon told himself he’d made peace with it all, it still hit him sideways all over again in this moment. Arthur was giving his mother’s rooms to Gwen...and had given his mother’s seal to Merlin. 

Before him, one of the maids swept the collection of yellowed perfume bottles from the dressing table into a waiting receptacle. They would probably be discarded.

Leon turned on his heel and hurried away. There was nothing for him here. He had a tournament to be at. 

He surprised himself by performing well enough at the competition to advance to the finals in jousting the next day, despite his aching head and heart and lack of focus . That evening Lancelot again declined invitations to socialize--it was obviously going to take some time for him to settle back in-- and Elyan got in a fight in the lower town over something that had been been said about Gwen. There wasn’t any more singing amongst the knights.

~~~~~

The third and last day of the tournament. It was one of the few times in his life that Leon thought he’d be happy when a tournament was over and done with. He’d been standing outside his tent...brooding, if truth be told...and observing the goings-on. He noticed Gwen enter Lancelot’s tent after furtively glancing about--something highly improper for an engaged woman, unescorted---and saw her emerge a few moments later, looking a bit upset and confused which she quickly masked when she saw Arthur. A short time later, Lancelot emerged too, and he seemed calm and collected.

Leon simply reminded himself that whatever had transpired was probably nothing of import and was none of his business anyway. He needed to concentrate on his next heat--against Arthur. 

Such was his concentration that Leon performed dismally, was unceremoniously unhorsed and sent sprawling into the dirt, and cracked a rib. So much for trying for detachment.

Arthur, of course, raised his helmet exuberantly to where Gwen sat, beaming proudly. Humiliatingly, Leon’s squire helped him off the field and delivered him to Gaius for binding. But he halted before they could usher him into his tent--he wanted to see the last heat, between Arthur and his newly returned knight, the former owner of the future queen’s heart. He had to wonder just what might be going through her mind now. Jousting could be fatal.

Gaius left Leon to stand beside a very tense and silent Merlin, and Leon saw Gaius murmur something to him. 

The crowd seemed to know that this was something special and their roar filled the arena. The horses were nervous and foaming too, and when the signal was given to begin, the thud of their hooves seemed overly loud and heavy.

Merlin actually reacted as if he himself had been hit when Arthur was struck. Gwen was standing up in her royal box now, and Agravaine looked truly interested for the first time in hours. The crowd was no longer cheering. Arthur bent over his horse’s neck, in obvious agony..

Usually under such circumstances, an official would call the match to prevent further injury, but--this was the king. He would call his own match.

Now Leon was close enough to hear what Merlin and Gaius were saying. Merlin was nearly vibrating with worry, and Gaius too pointed out that Arthur really should withdraw--he was in no state to continue. 

“Arthur wouldn’t withdraw if his head was hanging by a thread” Merlin said caustically, demonstrating once again just how well he knew the king. 

The horses both galloped towards each other and--

This was madness. Arthur couldn’t even stay upright in the saddle--

He didn’t have to. Lancelot proved his nobility once again by yielding the match to his king. Leon had never felt prouder to be associated with these men or to have Lancelot as a fellow knight of Camelot. He wondered if he himself would have been able to swallow his pride and concede victory in his place.

The crowd exploded in cheers and applause. Arthur painfully dismounted--and here Gaius had to gesture to Merlin not to move, so ingrained was it in him to rush to him, to help him. Arthur threw his helmet aside and with one hand holding his injury, slowly made his way to his opponent. 

Lancelot knelt before his liege, humbling himself further before the king--and before Guinevere. Leon couldn’t hear what was being said, but after just a moment, Lancelot rose to his feet--and then bowed. 

And then Lancelot was joined again alone in his tent by Guinevere, and Gaius was hustling Leon to his own for treatment. He tried to tell Gaius that Arthur should take precedence, only to have the old man snap, “Merlin’s looking after him. Now let me see those ribs...”

~~~~~~

This couldn’t be happening. There simply had to be some sort of horrible mistake. Not Lancelot...

Leon had done everything in his power to acquiesce and accept the wishes of his king and liege, even when those wishes were highly improper. Arthur had wanted him and every citizen of Camelot to accept a low-born peasant as a queen--one that Arthur himself had visited unchaperoned late at night. And what had Gwen done? She had betrayed him, made a fool of him, on the very eve of their wedding. She had been seen by many eyewitnesses, including the king himself and Lord Agravaine, kissing Sir Lancelot. It was absolutely incomprehensible. 

Leon supposed, with an almost hysterical grim humor, that the Knight’s Code did in fact refer to noblewomen after all and not of the kind of stock Gwen was apparently made of. Or maybe the Code was just meant as...guidelines?

Leon just couldn’t think. How could she do this? Leon had truly believed that she’d loved Arthur, was loyal to him, and that her heart was good, but then Lancelot had reappeared, and--

Apparently these were her true colors. She was like a dog with a bone. It was deplorable. 

Leon’s head was swimming, his side was throbbing from his injury, and he found he couldn’t even look Elyan in the eye. Leon truly felt sick to his stomach. The repercussions of this...well, gossip spread like wildfire. Camelot’s enemies would be laughing at Arthur by nightfall and even her allies would shake their heads ruefully and try not snicker. A peasant queen, for heaven’s sake! You could wrap a pig in silk, but the pig was still a pig...

Alright, that was just cruel. But it was also exactly what would be said. Arthur would never be able to show his face in public again without being pointed at, a subject of derision, even pity. 

Gods, what a mess.

He jumped violently, pulling at the still very sore bruising at his side, when the heavy wooden doors crashed open and Guinevere, the cause of all this, was escorted in by two helmeted guards and forced to stand before the king’s empty throne. 

She looked a disaster, disheveled, her hair a mad, wild mop, eyes red and puffy. She kept biting at her lips, a gesture Leon remembered her doing when they both children when she was afraid or distraught. She was wringing her hands...

She was facing possible execution. Arthur couldn’t just call off the wedding and forgive and forget this. He was already a laughing stock for the way she’d humiliated him. His only recourse was to have her killed or exiled from Camelot forever. 

Leon was almost certain he knew what Arthur would do, even as livid as he must be. He had no stomach for execution, (a trait Leon considered a strength), had not even put to death the few sorcerers brought before him in his short reign, choosing instead to send them into exile. But Arthur had truly loved her, had faced resistance and ridicule to bring someone from another world, someone unworthy of him, to stand at his side. She had made the choice to love another. She’d lied. And now she had to pay the price.

Love of such sacrifice betrayed could quickly turn to hatred. 

The hall was filled with over thirty men, and yet the place was silent. The only sound to be heard was Gwen’s ragged breathing. Not a boot scuff, not a cough. The air smelled of sweat and fear. 

Merlin was standing to one side of the waiting throne, almost behind a pillar. He was white faced and trembling, and he kept looking at Gwen and looking away. She looked at no one, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor. Gaius was also present, that familiar look of grave pity surrounding him.

Gwaine had never looked more grim. Percival looked near tears. Leon didn’t look at Elyan.

They waited.

The doors slammed open again, and Gwen was forced to her knees. The king had arrived. 

He strode into the silent room, no sign of his injury present, his face ashen with two pink splotches of color high on his cheeks. 

“Leave us.”

That wasn’t unexpected either. But then Leon saw the look brother and sister exchanged, and heard Agravaine protest and Arthur made his wishes clear. He would speak to his betrayer alone. She was alone.

They all moved to just outside the closed heavy wooden doors to wait. 

Shouts were heard. They didn’t wait long. 

Arthur opened the door, eyes bleak but his head held high as he addressed the guards. “You will see to it that Guinevere Thomas leaves the city boundaries by sunrise, never to return to Camelot, upon pain of death.”

All bowed. And Arthur was gone.

Merlin put both hands over his own mouth. Gaius closed his eyes briefly. 

Gwen followed a moment later, eyes still down, sobbing quietly. She was trying to cover her face with her hands. No one spoke. 

It was done.

Leon wanted to vomit.

~~~~~~

After Gwen’s banishment, Leon found himself spending an inordinately large amount of time in the tavern with Gwaine. Not the other knights of the Round Table, just Gwaine. He had tried to include Elyan and Percival the first few nights after the unfortunate incident, his reasoning being that Elyan could probably use the company, but as the brother of the unfaithful peasant-almost-queen...well. Heckling was not even the word for what had transpired. Elyan had been harassed, and how could he defend his sister’s honor when she had none? More and more now, Elyan stayed close to the palace, where he ignored the castle gossip and the looks, and he talked very little and went about his tasks as if by rote. Percival, in a demonstration of loyalty and friendship, chose to keep him company on most nights, sharing a drink in one or the others’ quarters or playing dice. Leon suspected there was very little conversation between the two reticent men, but none appeared to be needed. Leon could only imagine what Elyan must be feeling for his departed sister now--worry, shame, concern for her well being...but respected the man’s privacy and trusted Percival to let him know, spoken or unspoken, that he had friends within the castle who did not condemn him for the actions of another.

So Leon kept company with Gwaine, the same knight he had thought would drive him mad with his insolence scant months ago but whom he now found himself confiding in. He thought perhaps that he should be more disturbed by this fact than he actually was. Leon didn’t drink to excess and nearly always limited himself to one tankard per night. Gwaine being Gwaine, however...

Despite all his cheeky sarcasm, his inappropriate tongue and his overall highly narcissistic personality, Gwaine often showed himself to have a brain in his long-haired head and to be quite observant and insightful of others.

Sometimes. Not always...

“I’m surprised that you weren’t surprised, that’s all.”

Gwaine had been going on in this vein for awhile now. Maybe the large amount of cheap grog he’d guzzled had numbed his faculties more than usual, but Gwaine seemed to think there had been some sort of mistake, or conspiracy, or some nefarious set of unknown circumstances that had driven Gwen to the arms of another man. And he kept insisting that Leon “knew Gwen better than that.” He’d heard similar sentiments from Merlin too, whom he thought should have been outraged on behalf of the king.

“Gwaine, stop saying that. I didn’t--”

“You grew up with her!” Gwaine barked, a rush of fetid, alcohol -heavy breath in Leon’s face.

Just as Arthur had grown up with Morgana. He’d also believed in the inherent goodness of Morgana at one time too. After she’d shown her true colors, Leon had stopped declaring that anyone he knew would or would not do anything.

“Yes!” Leon snapped. “I was the lord’s son. She was the maid’s daughter. How much interaction do you think we might have had?”

Gwaine grumbled something rude and took another swig of his drink, nearly falling off the bench in the process. Alright then. Gwaine was more than half into his cups. Time to depart.

Wearily, Leon hauled him to his feet and started guiding him to the door. The truth was...the fact of the whole matter was that Leon had always seen Gwen as kind and charitable and sweet and loyal, and he’d believed her besotted with the king. But it was pointless now to keep insisting that. There had been witnesses...

Gwaine suddenly baulked and shook off Leon’s steadying hand on his arm. “I think you should talk to Agravaine...he probably had something...” Gwaine seemed to lose his train of thought in mid sentence, and Leon sighed and continued to keep him upright as they made their way out of the tavern. “Yes, Gwaine, I’m sure this is all Agravaine’s doing.”

Morgana. Gwen. Lancelot. And, Gwaine insisted, Agravaine. Was there anyone left in Camelot beyond reproach?

Sighing again, he hauled Gwaine up onto his horse’s saddle and took the reigns of both Gwaine’s horse and his own in hand. Time to go home...

~~~~~~  
As always, Gwaine remained unaffected by his hangovers during training. Extraordinary how he did that, really.

Everyone else, on the other hand--

Camelot was a tense and unhappy kingdom these days. The reasons behind the cancellation of the royal wedding had not been announced of course, but as always gossip spread like wildfire. The king had been humiliated, the peasant queen-to-be, disgraced, and the noble knight...well. 

Remarkable how accurate all the speculation was, without any official word to inform the people of the truth. 

Arthur was rigid, stoic, his eyes like flint. His whole posture spoke of concentrated, quiet rage and brittleness. He carried out his duties, but he did not speak unless he had to.

Merlin, of course, couldn’t take a hint and still prattled on as if nothing was amiss. Leon had passed the two of them more than once in the days immediately following the scandal, had heard Merlin pleading with Arthur, arguing, on behalf of Gwen; and even when he’d been icily shut down, Merlin still managed to bring Gwen into conversations with Arthur at odd intervals. They always seemed to be arguing these days, and not the sophomoric, bickering banter they were known for; instead, quietly hissed, furious exchanges. 

Leon wanted to kick Merlin in the gonads for it.

This morning at training, he’d heard Arthur shout at him to be silent, to not bring up the name again...

And then, somehow, Merlin had managed to get in the way of Arthur during sword form exercises and was now on the ground, groaning and bleeding far too enthusiastically, as head wounds always tended to.

Leon couldn’t believe it. He’d seen it happen, and he still would not have been able to describe how the accident came about. Merlin had been a part of knights training for years now, and he’d never been injured with a sword before.

There was a moment of frozen shock as all activity on the field ceased. Arthur’s expression was torn between anger, exasperation, bewilderment, embarrassment and concern. They all just stared. No one moved.

And then Gwaine rushed forward, yanking the ever-present neckerchief from Merlin’s pale neck and pressing it to the head wound. He actually growled at the king before bellowing“Percival!”

“Here”. Percival hurried forward, lifted Merlin effortlessly and began a half-jog in the direction of Gaius’ chambers, Gwaine trotting beside him, trying to hold the scrap of cloth to Merlin’s head to staunch the blood.

The sight was...upsetting. 

Without a word, Arthur drove the blade of his sword into the ground and strode off the field in the opposite direction of Merlin and the knights. 

~~~~~~

More to come!


	10. Interlude

Leon also had other worries that took precedence over palace scandal. He wrote weekly letters to his mother and had always received regular responses, usually just chatty, fluffy notes, a mother’s sentimental whims and meanderings .But now...as often as Leon wrote, he’d only received two replies since the time of his wedding. And the content of them were so vague, it was unsettling. His mother always began her letters by asking after Leon and telling him that she herself was fine. In the past, she’d then always filled him in on any news of the moment, from a lovely sunrise she’d seen, her favorite flowers in bloom, a new colt born, a day trip taken. She didn’t include gossip, but she did always report on how friends and relatives were and if there had been a birth or wedding or death in any of mutual acquaintances’ families. It was often like reading poetry, but Leon didn’t mind--his mother had a charming way with the written phrase.

She’d written him directly after the wedding, telling him that she knew Fleta was less than he’d hoped for despite her rich dowry and comely face, but that she was sure Fleta would mature and improve soon. 

It was also his mother who had delivered the disappointing (but not surprising) news that his seed had not taken in his new wife’s womb.

But since then...his mother had taken to sending him vague, disjointed, simply unsettling notes. In response to Leon’s always inquiring after Fleta and how his new wife was getting on, his mother’s response had been that she was “A very odd child, most peculiar” and “Who never speaks such as she?” Leon had responded by asking her if all was well and to please be more specific, but no letter had arrived explaining her odd statements.

Leon just didn’t know what to make of it all, but found it all peculiar and worrisome. He needed to make another trip home soon, but he did not know when he could; certainly not with Arthur in his distracted state. He couldn’t leave now for a personal holiday, but just as soon as he could, he would.

He also sent weekly letters to his new wife, asking after her and trying to find something of interest to tell her. He promised her he would see her again soon, would bring her a gift of her choosing if she would tell him what she might like, told her of a good meal or a fine view or...anything, really, to fill a page. And thought perhaps for the twentieth time that it really shouldn’t be quite this hard.

He’d received only one response back from her, and not even a response, really. Simply a drawing she’d done of him, of Leon. The quality of it was astounding--his young wife had an incredible eye and outstanding talent. It had seemed to Leon when he first unscrolled the portrait that he was looking in a mirror. He had immediately taken up scroll and pen to thank her and requested that he might have a similar portrait of her. 

So far she had not responded. 

Leon had hung the portrait (well, to be more accurate, his servant had done it for him), but then found himself bothered somehow by a picture of himself in his own rooms. Rather than remove it, he’d draped a bit of black cloth over it and forgotten about it.

And now, with a tense and unhappy kingdom, an angry, disappointed king and...Gwaine to worry about, as always, Leon did not have the time to worry about cryptic notes from his mother or inexplicably annoying portraits of himself.

Soon after he covered his wife’s gift and Merlin had recovered from the sword accident, Elyan seemed to lose his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It all began, as so many misadventures did, on a routine patrol. They’d all been taking the piss out of Elyan, after Gwaine had taken advantage of his generosity and then belched in front of the king. Even Merlin had gotten into the act. (He’d almost dropped the water skin tossed his way, with his usual flailing clumsiness, but managed to grasp it at the last moment). And Arthur had actually seemed wryly amused by their sophmoric nonsense, chuckling at their impromptu game of Keep Away. Perhaps he knew instinctively that a bit of levity, especially where Elyan and himself were concerned, was needed.

Leon had noted the sudden change in Arthur, the way his face had suddenly paled as if he was ill, and a curtain seemed to draw over his eyes. One moment he was smirking at the knights, and the next he looked gut-punched. “Saw something there, beyond the trees...”

Rags flapping in the breeze, like clothes on a laundry line. An old well. Everything seemed ancient here, which was, of course, ridiculous. An air of...desperate sadness, somehow. Too-heavy stillness, and Merlin going on about curses and restless spirits with his usual over-dramatic spin on everything. Honestly, Merlin...

Then--

Leave it to Gwaine, grabbing Merlin roughly and startling them all further. Merlin wasn’t playing along now, though. “It isn’t funny!”--probably expecting one of his “restless spirits” rather than just a rambunctious, long-haired knight.

But when a crow flew at them all noisily, Merlin’s “curse” seemed to be broken. 

Arthur tersely ordered them all on their way. “There’s nothing here for us.” He passed by Merlin without looking at him, as was becoming more and more common.

Only Elyan lingered behind, no doubt filling his waterskin from the abandoned well, for the long journey home to Camelot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur didn’t speak a word on the way home, and kept himself apart from the group. He took point the entire way back to Camelot. These days, that wasn’t unusual, for the king was brooding, silent island who held himself apart even from his friends. What was different,Leon noticed, was that Merlin did not make an effort to pester or poke at him as what would be usual a month or two ago. It wasn’t until they were all safely back home that Merlin quietly asked after the king, and was quickly shut down. And Gwaine, perhaps trying a bit too hard, teased his friend with a suggestion of salt keeping spirits away. Merlin wasn’t amused.

No one seemed to be these days, except Gwaine of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very brief glimpse into Camelot for now, more to come soon!


End file.
